


A Story You Won't Believe

by floralb0t



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Elf!Jaskier, Jask's OC family are only there for the first chapter, M/M, Slow To Update, fairly abstracted for the first section, sarcastic and full of quips especially when alone... it really hits different, sections will be more tied together the further in it is!, while it follows the show's plot i like in-game Geralt better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralb0t/pseuds/floralb0t
Summary: You can tell who is tied to your soul by the shapes which appear on your skin; paint-esque marks in the shape of that person's scars and the colour of their eyes.Julian Alfred Pankratz was born the various blues of his elder siblings, but also a shock of violet and gold covering his skin. He's quickly taught to keep his marks covered, a witcher is a dangerous thing for an elf to be bound to, and the safety of his community is the most important thing.At least, that is what he tells himself as he continues to hide the marks from his witcher-bounder long after the two have met.---Titled for the best song from the Witcher 3 soundtrack, you cannot change my mind
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 76
Kudos: 308





	1. 1

Julian Alfred Pankratz, son of the Viscount de Lettenhove, was born with splashes of blue and yellow and purple all across his body. His mother Mikayla held him closely and compared the blue across him to her own. There, just below the baby’s chin was a thin mark in a dark steel blue that belonged to her daughter Annaliese. She’d gotten it when she fell off a stool trying to pet the horses. And there, on the outside of his elbow, was a small circular shape in pale blue. It belonged to the eldest, Mikael, and he’d gotten it when he snuck into the kitchen and accidentally burned himself. Mikayla was not surprised to find at least one which marked her youngest as soul bound to each of his siblings, Mikael, then Gerome, Annaliese and her twin Anders, and even one for herself. Nothing for his father. Julian was already a discerning little ser, a smart boy and only just born.

She laughed to herself and smiled at her children as they entered one by one to meet the youngest of the Pankratz household. Her husband followed shortly after and Mikayla offered Julian to the man. He smiled but declined.

“He’s not even swaddled yet, wife-dearest.” The Viscount was terrified of holding babies. Always had been, always would be, Mikayla assumed. He leaned in and smiled a bit wider at the baby, reaching out to tweak a tiny foot. “At least we know he’ll be the most loyal of the bunch.”

Mikayla snorted at that, an undignified thing, but she couldn’t help herself. He’d grow tired of the boy soon enough yet. She covered it up with a falsely joyous laugh. Julian would be the loyalist of them yet, but never to the Viscount. 

\---

Julian was only a week old when the next swath of yellow happened across him. He’d been in the care of Annaliese and Ander's nanny so Mikayla could get a moment of rest. She’d never taken up a wetnurse, no matter her husband’s station, but sometimes she wished she had. The nanny was changing the baby when she noticed the amber-gold marking drag itself up the arm to his shoulder. She’d brought Julian back to his mother in a moment before returning to the twin toddlers who were her official charges. 

Mikayla sighed and held the boy close. Julian’s bounder, the person with yellows, had a hard life. They were older than her son, by some amount. She hoped that Julian was younger by two decades. She cooed at her son and kissed the crown of his head, rubbing at the points to his ears. Two decades was an acceptable amount if they were lovers, though as long as her son was smart, she could respect a larger difference. For friends, for a family of choice, age didn’t matter, but she really hoped that the owner of the golden paint which covered her son wasn’t the same age as him. He was always covered in wounds too terrible to have happened to children. 

The violet-bounder was not much different. It covered him in a more natural way, but she knew that did not mean that this bounder’s life would be any different. She prayed that kindness was shown to the bounder. Mikayla hoped, but she knew the cruelties of the world. She kissed her son again and tried to hold onto hope. 

\---

Julian was four when most of the purple disappeared. It had been hard to look at, harder than the yellow but only just. It covered a portion of his face and neck, closer to the back than over his front, though it still kept him from playing with the other children too much. Anders had always been scared of the rainbow which covered his younger brother, too aware of the pain that must be on the other end, even if Julian never felt a moment of it. Gerome was 7 when Julian was born and felt too old to play with his younger brother much when he was old enough for playing. Mikael was 12 at the time and being 16 now meant that he was readying himself for politics and marriage, not for playing hide and seek with a toddler. 

The only girl, Annaliese, was the one who would join her brother in the dirt and the mud despite how much it annoyed her father. Hanging with her younger brother was an act of rebellion to the young girl. Mikayla could not fault her lovely daughter for that. She had never been scared of the violet and yellow which covered her brother. The blue never frightened anyone, all the children were covered with the colours of each other’s eyes, but the purple and the amber were unique. The day it disappeared, she ran to her mother’s chambers crying her head off.

“Purple’s gone, purple’s gone!” Annaliese skidded across the rugs with Julian trying to keep up, tripping over himself and crying. 

Mikayla opened her arms to her children and held them close. “My darlings, what do you mean?” She saw what they meant, but, it is easiest to diffuse one’s fears when they actually know what those fears are. “Tell me, what is wrong?”

Annaliese scowled. “Mommy! Look at him! Purple’s gone! What does that mean?” She pointed at Julian who was getting puffy with how many tears trailed down his face. “Can’t you see, Mommy? Purple’s gone!”

She pulled them both onto her lap and gently stroked Julian’s face. “My lovely boy, it’s okay. Is it okay if we take your shirt off? I want to see if all of Purple’s marks are gone.”

Julian sniffled and then nodded. He let out another tear and then pulled the shirt up himself. Mikayla and Annaliese both reached forward and cradled the toddler who just didn’t understand. The violet which covered Julian’s face and neck was indeed gone, but smaller marks remained. Scars across the wrists, and what looked like small incisions on his abdomen. Mikayla baulked. She had no idea what sort of life the purple bounder lived, but she could not stop the tears which welled up. Leave it to her loving, joyous youngest to attach himself to what seemed like some of the most damaged people on the continent.

“My dear son, purple is not gone.” She pointed at the lines on his wrist. One day, she’d have to explain what those meant. For now though, he was just a sniffling baby boy who needed comfort. “Look here, Purple is still around. You still have your bounders, my boy.”

Annaliese smiled at her brother and then looked up at Mikayla with a slight glare. She leaned up to her mom, keeping a hand on her baby brother. “Mommy, are you sure? Why did it just vanish like that?”

“Oh, Anna, I don’t know.” Mikayla kissed her daughter’s head. “It’s okay though, look. Purple is still alive, my sweet.”

Julian looked up at them both and interrupted the side conversations. “Mommy?”

“Yes, son-mine?” She kissed his head too.

“Is Yellow okay too?” He poked at his wrist, just above those lines. There was a new amber-gold slash there. It was ragged on one side. Mikayla winced at the sight. 

She covered it up with a smile as quickly as possible. “Yes, Dandelion. Your Yellow is fine.”

Both the kids smiled up at her at that. Annaliese rubbed one more tear track off her brother’s face and then jumped out of her mother’s grasp. “Julian! Tag! You’re it! You’re it!”

Julian climbed down with a scowl. “Anna! Anna! That’s not fair!” 

Annaliese let out a wild laugh as she scampered away and the changes to Purple were long forgotten.

\---

Julian’s yellow bounder was a Witcher. They had known it was someone with a violent profession from the beginning. Nobody, even those in powerful positions, could take the sort of injuries Julian was a record of, without dying unless they had something else going on. It was the arrival of a witcher two towns over the month before which solidified it in the Viscount’s eyes. It wasn’t Julian’s witcher, the scars the man had didn’t match at all, and his eyes were wrong. But that was it. Julian was bound to a witcher. 

Elves and witchers do not get on. Mikayla wept the night her and her husband found out. Julian was getting sent off to a temple school very soon, and they would recognize it on sight. 

“Husband, oh dear husband-mine. Please, my love,” Mikayla begged. “Pay a mage for a charm, something to hide the marks.”

He looked tired at the mention of his youngest. Surely, to the man, this last child was more trouble than it was worth. “Why?”

“He’s just a boy. You know how those at school, in politics, will treat him when they know he’s bound to a Witcher. They’d rather kill him than teach him if he could bring ruin to us.” Mikayla didn’t stem her tears. The Viscount was not the most attentive father, but he had loved her once, when he still had the energy for it. “Your son is just a boy. Give him the best head start to this life possible.”

“And what if he does bring us to ruin? What then? Would you let your older children be brought down by the failures of the youngest?” The Viscount sighed heavily, too tired to put passion in his questions. “Are Mikael and Gerome not enough? Do Annaliese’s prospects not please you? Is Anders not congenial enough, Buttercup?”

Mikayla sputtered, her tears turning to ash. “Do not bring my others into this! You,” she seethed, “you had this boy pushed from my womb, now you need to look out for him!”

The Viscount sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “Mikayla, my flower, you ask so much of me.”

“And you ask much more of me if you believe I will not protect Julian, my love.” She spat the words like venom at her husband. It dripped from her mouth as she yelled. “Protect our son!”

He didn’t shrink in the face of the Viscountess’ anger, too used to her protective streak being turned on him. Instead, he sighed again and stood, stepping towards his wife. “I will send a retainer towards the closest mage.” He beckoned one of the stewards forward. “Convince them to come here. Be discreet. We will pay well. Now go.”

The man ran as he was told. Mikayla smiled as she tucked some stray hair behind a pointed ear, and wiped the tears from her face.

\---

Julian came back when his schooling was done. Annaliese never went to school, being taught in the home by a private tutor that Mikael’s in-laws suggested, and so beyond the letters in which Julian was surely lying, Mikayla was able to keep track of what happened to her son through her daughter. The scars to his knuckles were uncomfortable, but Mikayla didn’t look at them for too long. She remembered how it went with the other three boys. If you didn’t listen, you were taught to. 

The day Anna came running to her mother’s chambers with tears in her eyes, Mikayla dropped everything. There was a long line, thin and cornflower blue from her collarbone down to her abdomen, where it was covered by her chemise. 

“Mommy?” Anna was almost eighteen and her marriage was arranged for just a month after her brother came home. He’d be leaving in a few days to start the journey back to Lettenhove. She was an adult, a strong woman, but seeing her brother’s pain must have caused serious fear in Anna. “Mommy, is he okay?”

Mikayla’s age was only starting to get to her. Elves were long-lived. So long-lived. But that didn’t mean that they were immune to world-weariness. She opened her arms and let her daughter run into them. “My dear, you know he will be.”

“But what if it broke his chain? What if someone else sees that he’s bound to Yellow?” They had always referred to one another’s bounders by their colour. Anna’s Green was supposed to be the other half of the arranged marriage. Mikael was the one who convinced Mikayla of it, and she trusted her eldest. “You know how others would take it.”

“You know how it works, dearest flower.” Mikayla petted Annaliese’s hair. “As long as he still has the chain draped over him, the glamour will work.”

“And no-one can see his scars but us,” her daughter finished, head pressed into Mikayla’s neck. “But Mommy, it’s so long. Are you sure he’ll be okay?”

She laughed and hugged her daughter tighter. “Our little Dandelion will come home singing to himself. He might complain the whole time, he’ll annoy our retainers into retirement, but he’ll come home singing.”

A week later, Mikayla watched as her son jumped out of the carriage doing exactly that. He claimed that it was just an accident, he’d fallen out of his bunk onto something sharply edged. That's what he told Anna and Anders, and his father, and Gerome and Mikael when they arrived too, all wondering about the long thin mark which was on all their chests. 

Mikayla wasn’t sure how often it was that every child was bound to one another. Or how often every child was bound to their mother. Out of the six of them, the children and her, only Mikael was bound to the Viscount, though the man never seemed to mind. She watched her son return to his old rooms and slot right back into the lives with his siblings. She wondered if after 4 years he’d gotten used to not seeing the marks of his family who loved him so unconditionally every time he looked down at his hands. She wondered how it was affecting him. She wondered how it was affecting her other kids. 

Mikayla wondered most of all when he was going to run away to go find the other bounders he had. 

\---

Julian Alfred Pankratz’s sister Annaliese was getting married and yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off the band. His sister was beautiful, his middle brother and her twin, was standing beside her and beaming. Anders was shy around everyone but Annalise and her new beau. Julian grinned at his siblings every time he looked their ways, it was a wonderful day for the Pankratz family, but Julian felt his eyes just keep going back to the band. 

He knew some of the songs they played while people were dancing. It’s hard not to know the more popular jigs and such. The vocalist had a lilting voice, the lutenist spry fingers, and the harpsichordist a refined elegance. The two who handled percussion and the like looked like they could party, and likely would long into the night. He followed them around for a while. They didn’t move much, or fast, but they followed the crowd as it travelled the courtyards of Lettenhove. 

Julian waited until the band called it quits for the night. His father was around, somewhere, so he could pay the group before they left, but he hadn’t come around yet. Nobody was willing to leave until they got paid, no matter how much they enjoyed the evening. Julian knew it was his chance.

“Ho, boy!” The cymbalist and likely backup-vocalist called to him before he could call them. “You’ve been skulking around us all night.”

“Not quite, didn’t you see that lovely waltz with the Viscountess?” The harpsichordist slapped his companion and she laughed in his face.

He flushed, unsure of what to say. Two of the band member snickered while the cymbalist tried to defend herself. “What, he was!”

“You don’t have to bring it up like that!”

The whole group laughed for a moment before turning back to him. Julian felt like a fish on land.

“I’m Laiel, the up-tight annoyance is Kiraf, Shelia does the singing, Henry’s my backup in beats, and Tory plays the lute.” Laiel, the cymbalist said as she pointed to each person in turn. “What instrument are you interested in?”

Julian felt his flush travel all the way across his shoulders. Maybe it was the ales he’d had and then snuck when his mother glared at him, but he couldn’t help but be embarrassed the band had caught him. “T… the lute. Mostly. Harpsichord is a cool second bet, and everyone should at least try their hand at singing, and beat keeping is important beyond all, but I think the lute is what I’d like to learn the most. I actually came over here to ask you all where you trained,  _ if _ you trained? Did you learn on the road or attend a school? Or apprentice? Are there apprenticeships in the bard industry?”

The lutenist, Tory, barked out a laugh. “Well, you could certainly be a singer with lungs like that. You didn’t pause once boy!”

“Oh he’s a drunk little thing, don’t tease him!” Kiraf slapped at another of his bandmates in defence of Julian. “One at a time, dear boy. What question first?”

“It’s Julian, ser.” He paused, and tried to school his face back to a normal colour. With the amount of alcohol in him, he doubted it worked. “How did you all learn your craft?”

“Most of us went to school. There's a few bard colleges out there if you look in the right places.” Kiraf responded. 

Shelia smiled delicately. “I suppose I apprenticed under another bard.” She held her hands out to him to see. Her fingers were short and scarred. “With hands like these I can’t make a full career of it, so I’d sing with the bard in the tavern I waited at. “

The last of the group, Henry, nodded as well. “Aye, ‘m not cut out to be a bard full time either. Not much of a singer, but I like the band well.”

“He’s a blacksmith by trade,” Tory murmured as if he was telling a secret but wanted Henry to overhear. “Can’t strum or sing worth shit, but those arms can hit a drum in time like no other.”

Henry sputtered while the rest of the band just laughed, and Julian laughed along too. They had different personalities, but the group gave him a similar feel as his siblings had, when they were younger and more carefree. He liked listening. They were probably a little drunk too.

“Aye, aye, you said you were interested in … the lute though, right?” Laiel drew everyone’s attention back to him. 

“Yes, ser. Though all sound good!” Julian tried again to keep them all happy. He wasn’t playing favourites! He just ... liked the sound of it.

Tory gave him a grin and lazily hit a few chords. “Oxenfurt, Ser Julian. That’s where I studied.”

“Where’s that?” 

“Out in the human lands. You’d need a glamour, Ser Julian, but there’s no finer training.” Tory grinned at him.

“Do you have one?” Julian knew his father had one, as well as Mikael, but he thought that was it. They weren’t sacred, but they were expensive. Only to be worn when needed.

Tory’s smile wavered a little. “I’m sorry, little Ser. I sold it to get my lute fixed once I returned. I wasn’t planning on leaving again.”

Julian felt something in him squish a little at that, like a bug. He felt a little like he’d been stepped on but not quite killed. Human lands? A glamour? It was that or training under someone in front of him and Julian knew the Viscount would never approve of that. His children were for political uses, not for crowing about a tavern.

Laiel clapped him on his shoulder. “Don’t worry little Ser Julian. You’ve got a long life ahead of you. You’ll find a way to make it yet.”

Another of them poked him in the side. “Don’t look now, little Ser, but I think your father is coming. Run along now.”

Julian hesitated, wanting to look over his shoulder, but restrained himself and walked away calmly. He tripped a little over his own feet, but he kept walking. Julian could, occasionally, do as he was told.

\---

Julian was almost confused to find the house so quiet after how noisy the hours preceding his return were. Sounds of life were present, yes, but far off. He, very much on purpose, avoided the hall closest to Annaliese and … Trava? Ina? Whatever, Annaliese and Green’s room. He avoided his parent’s as well. Whether they were fucking or arguing, Julian wouldn’t care, but he knew to stay away. Instead, he slunk back to his room to mope, near-silence ringing in his ears. 

He hummed one of the more mournful pieces the band had played, perhaps one of only two or three. A wedding isn’t much of a place for sorrowful songs. The first one had even been a joke if Julian remembered correctly. Anna and …. No, still just going with Green. Anna and Green had just left the dance floor after a particularly lively waltz and the band played what should have been a ballad of heartbreak a little jauntily, as a show of sadness for them taking a break. It was good natured and well timed. Julian was humming it in the way he assumed it was meant to sound though, haunting and sad.

A dream crushed before it had even begun. Perhaps if he begged enough, he could convince his father to hire a teacher in the house. Julian knew his mother got what she wanted often through just being loud and waiting the man out. But he was the youngest, worth the least in political actions, and bound to people who were dangerous. He’d been young when his mother gifted him his precious necklace, a pendant which held nothing but air, and hid his Yellow’s marks, and his Purple, and all of his many Blues, his siblings, only because it is impossible to hide some but not all. She hadn’t told him as much, but Julian figured it would probably be the last “gift” the Viscount gave him.

In a town as small as Lettenhove, the Viscount’s youngest son sneaking out nightly to learn to play the lute at the tavern would be hot gossip. Julian resigned himself to just being a fan. He threw open the door to his room but missed catching it before it smashed loudly into the wall. He cringed as the sound echoed down the hall behind him.    
“Oh, I’m going to pay for that one tomorrow,” Julian murmured to himself as he carefully let it close. “At least one of the bunch will have my head.”

The only light in the room, once the door was closed, was the moon drifting in through a window at the far of the room, not enough to inspect the damage. Julian sighed and gathered a candle and some matches so he could really take a good look. When he had lit a small candle in its cradle, Julian was bent down, trying to see how bad he’d smashed the wooden accents on the wall. He was almost too focused to notice the soft footsteps which stopped just outside his door until said door nearly slammed into him. Julian yelped as the threat stopped at the last second.

“Woah, Jules!” A hand caught the door and just the last second. “What the hell are you doing back there?”

“Exactly what you were going to do next,” he grumbled as he stood and turned to face his brother. “Mikael, what brings you around?”

His eldest brother huffed a laugh away. “Can I not just check in with my babiest brother?”

Julian sighed and invited his brother further into his room. It was small, but it had a small reading desk in the corner. He sat himself on the bed and gestured Mikael to the chair at the desk. “Brother-mine, you know you are always welcome,” he tried to act upbeat but felt he hadn’t quite faked it well enough. “But the only thing I’d expect you to want to talk about is some sort of conspiracy for politics.”

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Mikael draped a hand across his forehead. Twelve years older than Julian, but still the family resemblance was strong as ever. “Though, I suppose it  _ is _ a bit of a conspiracy.”

“Oh?” Julian leaned forward, one of his hands slipping on his lap. Tears and ale had made him clumsier than he thought. “Oh, shit.”

Mikael gave him a look. “Rough night?”

“Rougher than I’ve had in a while,” Julian grumbled.

His brother burst out into a laugh. Julian watched in tipsy horror as Mikael pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal a cornflower blue line which they both recognized. “Worse than this?”

“That was an accident!” 

“Hah, of course it was, little brother.” Mikael leaned forward and ruffled Julian’s hair. “Now, do you want to hear what I’ve come to talk of?”

Julian flopped back onto his bed. “Fine, Mik.” He sniffled. “What do you want?”

“I want to get you out of here.”

Julian didn’t hear that right. He lifted his head up and stared.

“Jules, I want to get you out of here.” Mikael was giving him a small smile, filled with confidence, as he stared Julian down.

Julian coughed a little as he pushed himself up further. ”What? Mik, what do you mean?”

Mikael sighed and looked away. “You’re the baby, Jules. We all only want the best for you.” He kept his eyes away, but Mikael leaned forward and gently lifted the pendant off Julian’s shoulders. “It’s a risk, life is always a risk, but your Yellow and Purple… Jules would you be happy if you stayed here knowing they're out there?”

Pawing at his eyes, Julian tried to stare in disbelief but found his vision kept wavering. 

“I love you, brother-mine, but you’re not made for this life. You should go find the one you are.”

Julian stopped wiping his eyes for long enough to look at his hands. His scars were there, across his knuckles and small knicks on his fingers which had accrued over the years, but there were ambergold paint-like marks over many of the same spots. He wondered if his fingers were lithe enough to play a lute. What did Mikael have planned? He reached out and took his pendant back, slipping it over his neck and rubbing his eyes one last time. “How?”

Mik reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a long cord, slipping it over Julian’s head. “This.”

He reached up to touch it, a pendant on a cord which laid right beside his original one. It looked as if it opened. Julian looked up at his brother hesitantly, and only when Mikael nodded did he check the insides. There was a portrait of their mother inside. She looked the same as every day, though her smile was a little brighter and her eyes a little wider. If Julian had to guess, he’d say it was an old portrait.

“What’s this, Mik?” He asked as he toyed with it.

The older man leaned forward and ruffled Julian’s hair again. “My old charm.” He reached for Julian’s ears and gave them a tweak. 

“My… ears?” Julian reached up to feel them, one hand still holding tight to the pendant which was hanging low on his chest. They were slightly rounder than he expected. “Wait, your one for when you have to deal with humans?”

Mikael nodded and smiled gently. “Take it off for now, Julian, but when you’re ready to go, you have it.”

Julian felt a new rush of tears leak out of his eyes. He quickly slipped off that pendant and held it tight, taking up his normal one in the same hand. “Thank you, thank you thank you!” 

“You remember what Mother said when she gave you that empty charm, Jules. Come back with a momento and your heart intact.”

“And what did she tell you when she gave you yours?” Julian’s words were watery but he was grinning from ear to ear.

Mik matched his expression, sans the tears. “Never forget where you came from.”

\---

It was another year before Julian left. The Viscount was a tired man, so much older than he looked, and maybe it was that age which allowed him to outlast his youngest son’s pleading. The family and the few servants and retainers they had who were sympathetic to Julian’s cause could do little in the face of the Viscount. 

The last day before he left, Julian sat in his childhood room and looked at his hands. There were scars on his knuckles from his time at temple school, pinpricks which were all that was left of animal bites, moments where he had nicked himself with a training dagger, burns from getting too confident around a flame, and other things he’d forgotten where they came from. They were all small, faded, hidden against his pale skin, generally kept to the tips of his fingers and the back of his hands. Julian would forget they were there most of the time. 

He pulled off the necklace around his neck and held the pendant tightly, his eyes squished shut. _ Breathe in, breathe out. _ It was always so nerve wracking to check.  _ Breathe in, breathe out _ . He slowly opened his eyes and stared.

The pendant dropped from his hand onto the bed. The golden-yellow lines, some thin, some thick, all bright and beautiful, had only grown. The largest collection was against the back of his palms and around his wrists. Yellow had similar scars to Julian, just, larger, and more dangerous. The marks on his wrists looked like teeth marks. The back of his palms looked like knife marks.

Julian forced himself to breathe, to not be caught up in the pain his bounder surely felt.  _ In, out. _ He pushed up the arms of his shirt, looking to see how his violet-bounder was doing. A breath he had been trying not to hold fell out of him. There was nothing new. His mother tried to hide what the purple lines on his wrist meant for a long time, but Julian knew. The electric, entrancing purple was attached to a soul who knew hurt. Whether they had gained happiness or not, Julian was proud to see there was nothing new, every time he checked. One day he hoped to bring them some measure of happiness as well. 

Yellow and Purple didn’t know him. They’d had hard lives. Julian winced as he noticed a spiralling slash of yellow, thicker than ever before, on his shoulder and trailing down his arm. Well, were still having hard lives. Grabbing the pendant his mother gave him years ago, Julian took a steadying breath.  _ In. Out. In. Out. _ And then he got up and grabbed the pendant Mikael gave him. He toyed with the chain on it for a moment before opening it and smiling at his mother’s visage from inside. 

_ Breathe in, breathe out _ .

Julian slipped them both on and grabbed the already packed bag from the end of his bed. 

_ Breathe in, breathe out _ .

He only hoped that once he found his bounders, Julian would be able to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ! When i started this i hadn't interacted with the Witcher, and have since started the show and the third game, so if any of the lore is wrong, blame it on that. This is probably the most serious source material I've ever worked from so if this feels weird that's also why.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe in #2020quarantine. I can't promise how often I'll update this but I can promise to give it a good shot! thanks for reading ily kiss
> 
> [Tumblr](https://floralb0t.tumblr.com/?)


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak, denial, pining, and some vague mentions of sex.

Jaskier can recall his time at Oxenfurt fondly. It was a calm few years. The bard Jaskier left after being taught the bardic trade of song and music as well as bargaining, crowd reading, and helpful knowledge about the nomadic lifestyle. Those last two came mostly from his interactions with professors outside of class, and the bargaining was a learn-or-die skill he got from being in charge of himself, fully, for the first time ever. He learned it all well enough to be a theory professor for a time.

Yes, Jaskier thought with a happy sigh, Oxenfurt was a wonderful place. He fell back onto the soft ground with a smile. The sunshine out in the country could be so, so lovely. He mainly kept to the larger roads, more commonly travelled by the normal folks, but that meant he rarely was truly alone. There was always someone just over the next hill who could still hear his voice carry. Jaskier opened his eyes and watched a cloud drift lazily through a strikingly blue sky. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflower and wet earth to him. Oxenfurt had been a happy period of his life, but nothing beat this field, here and now. 

The warm sunlight was almost enough to make Jaskier fall asleep. Unfortunately, his stomach groaned, making Jaskier groan too. How long had it been since he ate more than berries and jerky? “Guess it’s time to keep going, huh?” He picked up his lute and gently played a few chords while still lying flat. The songs he’d been trained on were often what his fingers idly strummed in quiet moments. 

_ “Good penniworthes, but money cannot woo, _

_ I keep a fair, but for the fair to view, _

_ A beggar may be liberal of love.” _

His fingers slipped slightly as his stomach gurgled and Jaskier lost the tune with a laugh. He was too pleased with the morning to be upset, the sunshine was delicious and the air was fresh. He pulled himself off the ground completely, dusted off his silks, and started towards Posada. 

[ _ Fine Knacks for Ladies _ ](https://media.vam.ac.uk/audio/fine-knacks-for-ladies.ogg) never left his head though and Jaskier found himself continuing to sing it as he walked. 

_ “Tho' all my wares be trash, the heart is true, _

_ the heart is true, the heart is true. _

_ Tho' all my wares be trash, the heart is true, _

_ the heart is true, the heart is true. _

_ Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again, _

_ My trifles come, as treasures from my mind, _

_ It is a precious jewel to be plain, _

_ Sometimes in shell, the orient pearls we find. _

_ All others take a sheaf, of me a grain, _

_ of me a grain, of me a grain. _

_ All others take a sheaf, of me a grain, _

_ of me a grain, of me a grain.” _

A small bird flew overhead and chirped as it went. Jaskier kept walking but spun so he was facing the bird, serenading it with the old tune. 

_ “Within the pack, pins, points, laces, and gloves _

_ And diverse toys, fitting a country fair _

_ But in my heart, where duty serves and loves, _

_ Turtles and twins, courts brood, a heavenly pair. _

_ Happy the heart that thinks, of no removes, _

_ of no removes, of no removes. _

_ Happy the heart that thinks, of no removes, _

_ of no removes, of no removes.” _

The song was over soon enough, it was but a short little ditty. Jaskier laughed when he noticed the bird circling him now. “Do you care for another song, little bird?” The bird chirped at him again. It seemed as good a response as he was going to get. “Gladly then, sweet bird! I’ll let you listen to something of my own composition.”

Jaskier took a breath. It was just a bird, but he hadn’t played it for anyone yet. It was sad yet romantic and extremely unfinished, he felt it needed another verse, but well. At least the worst his first audience could do was peck out his eyes if they hated it.  _ Oh no, _ he thought as the sudden image of him, blind and still a half fay’s walk from the nearest town was flashing in his mind’s eye.  _ Breathe in, breathe out _ . 

He tossed one more glance up at the bird and then began to strum the introduction. 

_ “Come again! Sweet love doth now invite _

_ Thy graces that refrain  _

_ To do me due delight,  _

_ To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,  _

_ With thee again in sweetest sympathy.  _

_ To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die,  _

_ With thee again in sweetest sympathy. “ _

The bird sang almost in time, as a beautiful little harmony. 

“Well if you’re going to be so bright, then maybe I  _ shouldn’t  _ sing something which will end up being so sad.” Jaskier sighed and watched the bird fly alongside him for a little longer. He had nearly decided on what to play instead when the bird veered off, returning to the forest which cradled both sides of the road. “Ah, well. No crowd lasts forever.”

The bird had been company, not much but some. The bard already missed what he’d only had for a handful of minutes.

How long had he been walking for? Judging by the sunlight which danced almost overhead, it was likely around noon. And from what the barkeep had told him in the last town, he’d have at least another 4 hours of walking? He groaned. Why did Posada need to be so far away? He stopped and kicked at the hard dirt of the road. Stupid fucking small towns being so hard to get between.

Perhaps the only upside to all the walking time was that he could continue to compose. Jaskier checked over his shoulder, just to be sure that there really wasn’t anyone around. Only when he confirmed that the road was bereft of anyone other than him and the random songbirds did Jaskier keep walking and keep strumming.

\---

He’d purposely thrown the performance of course. It was a lot easier and cheaper to get his bread via the throwing arm of uncultured farmers than paying for it. Jaskier was on his way up to the counter to see if he could work his way into someone else’s room for the night too when he noticed the figure in the corner. Amber-yellow eyes glared at everyone who walked past but seemed to narrow in the most at Jaskier as he performed a sincere flop.

He’d fucked up his introduction as well.  _ Seriously, Jask, _ he thought to himself,  _ how hard is it to not sound like a complete idiot? _ He stumbled on his words as he took in the scar which ran nearly the full amount of the witcher’s face. How many times had Jaskier taken off his charms and in a mirror, seen that same scar in gold staring back at him?

As the day progressed he found that Geralt of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken, was extremely hard to converse with. Even when he managed to stop thinking with his heart and start thinking with his head, Geralt was like a wall. Even if Jaskier had wanted to explain the situation, let their connection be known, and pretend everything was fine forever now that he had found his more active bounder, he couldn’t. First of all, how the hell was he supposed to go home to his mother and tell her he’s bound to someone called “the Butcher of Blaviken”? Then, how could he go home knowing he’d left someone undeserving of such harsh inspection to their own devices? And finally, perhaps most important of all, how could he be sure the other man was even listening to him long enough for Jaskier to say his piece? Geralt of Rivia was not a talker, but Jaskier the Bard certainly was. 

That would be his duty then. To talk. To talk to Geralt, and perhaps for Geralt, and at the very east,  _ about _ Geralt.

As they descend the mountain and make their way back to Posada, Jaskier considered the chords he had memorized at Oxenfurt. His Elvish fingers learned the lute quickly and his mother always said he had a voice like a little songbird. Jaskier only hoped that he would be capable of making something which showed both his appreciation for Geralt first of all not leaving him to die there with the other elves, and second, for existing. Would it be strange, to thank someone for just existing? Did he know the notes which could properly say it?

Jaskier considered once again taking off his charm, letting Geralt see it all and hoping that’d be enough of an explanation.

No, no, he thought as he placed one foot firmly after another, he’d thrown his performance and his introduction. If he wanted to stick around long enough to fix the poor witcher’s reputation, he’d need at least some of the man’s trust. 

“Geralt, I’m going to compose you something.”

The witcher rode in silence beside him. Jaskier looked over, trying to gauge the other man’s response. He was a bit disheartened to see that the man hadn’t even looked his way. 

“Don’t worry, dear Witcher, I’ll make sure it’s only the best.” Jaskier talked out of his ass when he was nervous. For a moment he wondered if Geralt could tell the difference between normal Jaskier and nervous Jaskier, before shaking the thought away. As of right now, all the Bard needed to do was focus on his composing. All of the details could come after he’d worked his way into Geralt’s life. 

\--- 

They’d have to split up, for a time. From what Jaskier came to understand, this first time would be quite far from the last. And to be perfectly honest, he thought to himself, that suited him just fine. It didn’t break his heart. Absolutely not.

Jaskier had been with Geralt for several months when they went their separate ways for the first significant amount of time. He’d been eating with the man when Geralt told Jaskier they would not be travelling together during the winter. It was probably the most words Jaskier had heard his bounder speak in one go. 

“I’m going further north. You’re not.” Geralt had a tired, rumbling tone that seemed to bounce around Jaskier’s skull. “I leave in the morning. Make sure you take your things out of Roach’s bags tonight.”

Jaskier didn’t know how to respond to that and so for a moment, he didn’t. Just sipped his ale in silence. And then he realized how vulnerable that must make him look. Jaskier the bard? Rendered speechless by some man who doesn’t even  _ like _ him, leaving him behind? Oh that would never stand. Jaskier choked down the rest of his drink and tried to come up with something which would at least make him look  _ fine. _ Because that’s what he is, right? Fine?

“I will then.” Jaskier certainly didn’t stumble over that. He kept talking until he found his groove, “I’ll make sure to give Roach all of my love, enough to tide her over till we meet again. You must give her treats for me, and braid her hair! She’s a beautiful horse and deserves all of your attention, even in the winter months.” Roach always made him feel better. “So, do you have any requests for your final night hearing me sing?” Jaskier asked, tossing in a wink for good measure. 

Geralt just stared. He didn’t even give a grunt.

Internally, Jaskier deflated; outwardly, he grinned.  _ Breathe in, breathe out _ . “Well, in that case, I’ve started working on another ballad for you. No lyrics yet, at least not publicly.” He winked again, causing the witcher to roll his eyes. “If we  _ were _ to stay together, you’d hear them plenty.

That finally got something, a disinterested grunt as Geralt went to drink his ale. It was all the go-ahead Jaskier needed, and to be frank, more than he expected to get. Geralt was not the conversationalist. 

As soon as he’d finished eating, the bard wandered back over to the bar and shared a few words with the barkeep. It had been months since he’d had to discuss any sort of long term work in one place, but if he stayed here, then Geralt could easily find him come spring, right? That was the hope at least. 

As soon as he had something worked out to last him a few nights, Jaskier walked up to the corner where he had sat and played earlier in the night. A few voices called out wordless cheers or the names of popular songs they wanted, not his though, never his. Not yet. He laughed and brought his lute back up to his lap.

“Give me a moment, good patrons!” Jaskier pleaded with a laugh. “Allow my fingers a moment to warm back up. I’ll play a lilting little tune for you though!”

A few of the patrons laughed back while Jaskier did a quick scale, just to work the fuzz of ale out of his fingers. When he deemed himself ready, even if the patrons couldn’t tell the difference, Jaskier looked up to let his eyes linger on Geralt. He flicked them away quickly though, he was being left behind. Surely it didn’t break his heart, surely, surely not, but Jaskier couldn’t look at him for long without something crawling up to live in his throat. 

He played the chords that he’d put together. They were bright and bold, as close to brassy as he could come with the complete wrong instrument. It might not have the same power to get stuck in everyone’s minds, long after he’d left, but Jaskier was looking forward to it all the same. It’d be a longer work, more reverential. He’d try to keep his bounding out of it. Romance and heroic respect are different.

He flicked his eye over to Geralt again and found the man glaring into his food. Not good feedback in such an emotionally trying time. Jaskier was  _ fine, _ absolutely, above all else, he’s fine. But if he was ever to not be fine, now would be the time right?

The tavern patrons didn’t seem to mind the cords, but Geralt did. Jaskier considered how he planned to end the segment as his fingers played. When he had an opportunity to cut it off early without it sounding too wrong, he did. A few of the patrons gave him a couple scattered claps to which he gave an exaggerated thanks. “So what’s the first request?”

Jaskier kept his eyes as far away from the Witcher in the corner as he tried to sing away his sadness.

\---

“You’ve been here a week, bard,” the waitress from the tavern below his rented room said in a voice dripping with honey, “Finally ready to come play?”

Jaskier smiled and cupped her hair. “Of course, Flower,” he kissed her cheek, “of course.”

She led him further up the stairs with a giggle and a sway to her hips. He followed willingly.

It was a quick affair, full of groans and gasps and moans. And that’s what it was, really, a quick affair. Somewhere in the tiny, shitty hovel of a town outside was this waitress’ partner, some man or woman with a bed and pillows that held this waitress every other night. The 

He laid on the blankets in the  _ after _ , trying to bask in some satisfaction when his bed partner rose and hurried to dress herself again.

“Have you somewhere to rush to?” Jaskier asked, silently hoping she did and he could just stay here alone.

“Aye,” She nearly whispered, turning to clasp his necklaces and used those to gently tug him upright. “Not that you haven’t been fun, bard. I’ll hope to be at the top of your list when you come to town next -” She kissed the charms which she still held, attached to him via long chains. “- when you’re free of whatever binds you.”

He didn’t say anything, he just pushed himself up straighter and gaped.

The waitress sighed and let go of the charms, his pendants, and they fell back against his torso with two soft noises though it felt like a hammer. “I don't know how you’ve managed to hide it, Jaskier, but you practically ooze heartbreak,” she commented softly as she stood. “You fuck well regardless.”

Jaskier’s silence felt like a bubble he could not pop as she sighed again and left without another word. With one hand he brought the pendants up to his face and considered, like every other lonely night, if he would take them off when he found Geralt again, this time. Once spring came, would he approach his bounder? He hadn’t last year, or the year before, would this be the one? And like every other lonely night, he reminded himself that his marks were hidden for safety - Geralt’s and his own.

Of course, he thought, of course.

\---

“So I just need to stay here?”

“Mmm.”

“Cool. That’s fine. Roach and I will hold down the fort.” Jaskier pulled out his lute and leaned against a tree. “You’ve got to promise to give me as many details as possible.”

Geralt didn’t respond to that, just narrowed his eyes. “Stay quiet,” he ordered before turning and walking away.

Jaskier sighed and knocked his head against the tree. Typical. Typical rules, typical day, typical hunt. He strummed his hands lightly against the instrument and hummed the melody his words would follow. Idly, he wondered what Filandrivel thought of his ballads. Were they worthy of the proclaimed King’s instrument? 

He continued his lazing until he felt an hour or two had passed. The sun was more directly overhead at least. Jaskier was well and sure that Geralt had started his hunt for sure, and he would be damned if he missed all of it, as typical as it was bound to be. Jaskier smiled to himself and Roach as he pulled himself back up to his feet.

“Stay put girl,” he said quietly as he strung his lute to Roach’s saddlebags. “I’ll bring you all the apples you could ask for next time we make it to town okay?”

Geralt had been careful as always to not leave tracks when he left, but Jaskier knew exactly where the witcher had been headed. The current job was to clear out a wraith from an abandoned village. It’d been abandoned for decades, so many years that nobody could remember what or who caused the wraith to form, and Geralt figured it was going to be a full day job. Jaskier trusted the forest to hide him for long enough to get a sneak peek as he snuck up on the buildings.

He brushed some leaves and branches out of the way so he could just make out the shape of Geralt through the ruined walls around the broken down buildings. Jaskier could make out Geralt’s face just barely and watched as the witcher talked himself through the investigation. Jaskier nearly had to bite his tongue from laughing at that, it was just so entertaining every time he saw it. Of course, the man he’d been following for years now couldn’t say two words unless it was about his work or he was alone.

Jaskier continued to watch as Geralt went rummaging through one of the houses only to come back and drop an object in front of the well. He shifted his weight and glared into each of the buildings. For a moment Jaskier worried he’d been caught, that Geralt’s stupidly strong sense would have caught him hanging out in the woods. When A strange mist seemed to gather just behind Geralt, Jaskier nearly blew his own cover in his eagerness to alert his bounder. He swallowed the yell he was going to give just in time and Geralt caught the forming wraith on his own. 

Unable to tear his eyes away, Jaskier watched as the man carefully drew his silver sword and did  _ something _ to make the wraith not look as translucent in the high morning sun. He got a few good hits in before the phantasmal creature was able to give one in return. Jaskier winced as he watched Geralt take the hit without even a cry. It looked like on a normal human it’d be fatal, but witchers were another class altogether.

He wondered how big the scar in yellow would be on his own body.

He wondered if today would be the day he finally came clean about it.

Jaskier watched Geralt fight for a few more minutes until it looked like the battle was soon over. At that point, he smiled to himself, proud of remaining concealed the whole time. He returned to the campsite Geralt had picked for him and Roach, and set about setting up. First was making sure Roach was properly brushed and cared for. He picked what he thought was the perfect spot to tether her, both shade and sunlight in spades, plenty of longer grass and water within reach. That's what horses need, right? Jaskier was satisfied with himself and decided to build a fire. He kept it fairly small, the sun hadn’t quite started setting yet and the afternoon light was going strong. 

Once he had that out of the way also, Jaskier did some menial housekeeping of the space. He did a little foraging for some berries, set himself up with his lute and went back to composing. The sun started to dip low before he considered how Geralt was doing again. 

The wraith looked like it was nearly done for when Jaskier left. What was holding the witcher up? Was he off scrounging for information or something? What if something had happened? What if the wraith landed a solid hit instead of just that graze? What if Jaskier had misjudged how well Geralt was doing?

Jaskier clutched the pendants which normally sat just under his doublet, hidden from casual eyes. The idea of pulling it off to inspect himself for any lethal blows hit him like a punch in a drunken brawl. He found himself sprawled out in the dirt, panting and lost in the terrifying thought. What if this was the time he lost Geralt? Still not having opened up to the man?  _ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Geralt would be fine, of course. He’d killed wraiths before, plenty before Jaskier met him, and at least a handful since. Geralt must be looking for information about the identity of the wraith or the person who had summoned it. He would be back as soon as he found all the information he needed. Jaskier wasn’t good for much on a hunt like this, or any really, but he’d be worth even less if he lost his head. 

_ Breathe in.  _

_ Breathe out. _

_ Breathe in. _

_ Breathe out. _

Jaskier had built the fire higher and laid out his bedroll for a softer seat by the time the sun had set completely. He was strumming his lute as a grounding method more than for practice. If anyone with half an ear for music listened to him, they’d no doubt hear the anxiety in his voice and his fingers.

“What are you doing.”

“AaaaaHHHHH!” Jaskier screeched loud enough to wake birds slumbering in the trees and then leapt back into flight. “Wh-h-G- Geralt?”

The witcher stepped into the light of the fire looking drenched and fucking pissed. “Who else?”

“I don’t know! A bandit?” Jaskier jumped to his feet and took a step towards the man, wanting to check him over for more injuries. “What the hell happened to you?”

Geralt frowned and glared at the bard. “I fell into a well.”

That took Jaskier back a moment. “I … I don’t know how to work that into a song,’ he mumbled as he went back to looking over the witcher. What the hell did a well have to do with the fight the man had been having when Jaskier left? “Well, you  _ look _ to be okay. I supposed I’ll have to come up with something then. Tell me, was it important to this hunt? Was the well holding some vital information?”

Geralt huffed and went to the packs to find some rations. “The body was down there.”

“The body was  _ down there?” _ Jaskier nearly shrieked again.

Settling himself down for the night, Geralt prepared himself for some meditation on top of his own bedroll. “If you had stuck around longer, you would have seen.”

Jaskier’s heart fell into the fucking ground as he sputtered. “H-how’d you know?”

Geralt didn’t respond, he just closed his eyes and began the practised breathing Jaskier was familiar with after their years travelling together.

Jaskier sputtered more for another few moments before quieting down. Even though he wasn’t meditating, he found his breaths quickly fell in line with Geralt's, calming him. Jaskier thought about it and decided that he should be glad he hadn’t been chewed out for not listening. He’d consider it progress. And it  _ did _ make his heart flutter a little.

Progress.

\--- 

He bathed happily in the overly hot water. Springs and rivers and lakes were fine and all, Jaskier thought as he reclined in the tub, but he always preferred the hunts which brought him to town. They let him wash away the cares of the week with a good bath. As soon as he was well and fresh, he planned to go sing in the bar and perhaps find a bedfellow for the night. 

His bath was luxurious and he ignored Geralt’s grumbles about what a waste of money it was. In Jaskeir’s brain, the question popped up, unbidden, like it did every time he laid eyes on his bounder.

_ Now? _

No.

Jaskier left the shared inn room and descended into the tavern below. His fingers were itching for something to play and after a few songs, he found his companion drinking wine at the bar. 

Drinks were poured. More drinks. More drinks. Laughter, jokes, sly touches, kisses. If he closed his eyes, Jaskier could pretend the body under his as he rode them both to climax was covered in cornflower blue instead of chocolate brown and ice grey and pine green. If he pretended hard enough the necklaces slapping against his chest, getting tangled together and with his chest hair, weren’t there; that he was covered in amber-yellow-gold and electric-violet-purple and so many shades of blue himself. 

…

Luckily he stopped himself before moaning the wrong name.

Maybe Jaskier  _ did  _ ooze heartbreak. 

… 

He paused his actions with a well placed flirty wink and slow roll of his hips to grab the bottle of wine sitting on the bed’s side table.

More drinks. More drinks. More laughter. 

Jaskier bathed in his pretending; luxuriated in it and decided he always preferred the hunts which brought him to town.

\---

Jaskier’s shirt and doublet were hanging on a nearby tree branch, drying after he had washed them out. He’d gotten too close during the last hunt and gotten clipped. It was his own damn fault, he was well aware, and was trying to avoid the inspection Geralt would no doubt bring. Jaskier made sure the bandages around his forearm were secure and did his best to stay quiet and out of the way for when the Witcher returned with game for the evening.

When the witcher did return, perhaps an hour before the sun fully set, Jaskier’s clothes were likely dry. He hadn’t gotten up to put them back on yet though, still just sitting topless on top of his bedroll jotting down ideas into his planning notebook. The grease pencil got more than a few black marks over his hands in the course of his lazy few hours. Geralt walked out of the woods glaring at him

“Oh,” Jaskier ignored the glare and stood to reach for the handful of rabbits Geralt was carrying. “Rabbits! Dinner! Let me take care of them, Geralt, while you go wash the last of the monster guts from your hair.”

Geralt handed the game over, not saying anything. If Jaskier had to guess, he figured the guts comment hadn’t landed right. 

“Oh don’t worry, I know how you like your haunches, Geralt, we’ve only been together like eight years now.” Jaskier let the mean look roll off his back. “Now go on! The soap is in Roach’s bag. I’ll have these finished cooking once you’re back.”

Before Geralt could argue, Jaskier bent down and got to work preparing the rabbits for cooking. He had finished the first completely before he realized he never heard Geralt leave and got a shiver up his spine. Jaskier paused the work just to peek over his shoulder long enough to catch the Witcher still standing there, watching him.

Perhaps eight years wasn’t long enough because, for a moment, he thought those eyes raking over him were full of pity. Jaskier reached for the pendants tangled together against his chest and reminded himself to pull his shirt back on as soon as Geralt left.

Let the man find him wanting. Jaskier was  _ full  _ of wanting. He’d already resigned himself to not receiving, and just wanting, enjoying the years until he couldn’t bear it and confessed.

Slow steps walked away.

\---

Jaskier walked behind Geralt, already knowing this would be their last inn together of the year. His fingers gently across his lute strings. When he went back to Cintra this year, he’d need to replace the strings before going to play for Calanthe. If she’d still let him in, considering the event of last year.  _ Hm, _ he thought, allowing himself a Geralt-like grunt if only in his brain. Maybe this year he’d be able to tell his witcher the truth of their connection before he left.

The bard looked over his shoulder at said witcher, who was riding Roach with a characteristically unimpressed expression on his face. Jaskier could tell the man was impatient, tired of being on the road, and likely bored out of his mind. They hadn’t had a hunt that equated to more than a quick jaunt down the road to chop off some drowner heads in nearly a month. Still a monster, sure, but it lacked  _ finesse _ . At least, that's what Jaskier thought his witcher was thinking. 

The air was quiet and cold. Jaskier felt a tune carry in his heart, mournful and lonely. 

_ “Autumn's scents have pervaded the air. _

_ The wind stole the words from our lips, _

_ That's the way must be, please don't shed, _

_ Those diamonds that run down your cheek. _

He looked over his shoulder again and found the witcher watching him now. “Oh don’t worry Geralt, I know you’re not a crier.”

“Mmm.” Geralt hadn’t looked away yet but had nothing he’d like to say, at least not with words.

“And, I know that it certainly isn’t that sad. Won’t be the first winter I’ve spent alone -”

“When are you ever alone?” Geralt interrupted with a question.

“- And it certainly won’t be the last.” Jaskier narrowed his eyes as he talked over his bounder. “Excuse you, I am alone, plenty! I like an empty bed just as much as I like a full one!”

And I’d rather it be full with  _ you _ , the unsaid words announced. Being in love… was the hardest sort of work. That comment, mixed with the bitter sadness still dripping off his fingers, trying to play his ballad again, unlocked something petty in Jaskier. 

Even if Geralt didn’t know it, now Jaskier  _ had _ to make him wait another year for the truth. He felt the weight of his pendants hitting his chest underneath his shirt and doublet. Yes, he’d make Geralt wait another year.

And it wouldn’t be  _ just _ to keep his poor heart safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit! i was not expecting such a positive response to a chapter that's only got 1 of the 3 main characters!! I hope the rest of it lives up to that!
> 
> Also! the first portion mentions two songs: Fine Knacks for Ladies and Come again, Sweet Love Doth Now Invite. Both are by John Dowland, a 16th century composer. You can find versions of them on youtube if you want to hear what they sound like! I highkey suggest looking up fine knacks, i love that madrigal. Before I actually watched the show, this is what I though Jaskier's ballads would sound like. I'm not disappointed to be wrong! The small verse in the last section is part of the flavour text for a book you can find in Witcher 1 which Jaskier wrote. ANYWAYS. game sass geralt is best geralt
> 
> ILY thanks for reading kiss!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://floralb0t.tumblr.com/?)


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Djinn and Post Djinn worldbuilding (Also, I know that Jaskier does speak two wishes in the djinn scene, pretend he doesn't just for me<3 ), mostly just some mild angst and Yen/Jask friendship. they deserve to be friends.

Jaskier woke with a start and a sputter. The last thing he really remembered was being slumped over himself in the tent of some elf healer. A man he prayed couldn’t recognize the signs and a man who could not help in the slightest. He vaguely remembered seeing trees blur past, of a different man naked and wanting… juice? And so many fucking bodies. Bodies fucking? What the hell had happened? He gasped for air and found his throat was no longer exploding with pain at least.

“Drink, bardling.” A hand shoved a glass in his face, and Jaskier gulped down the water before his eyes had fully adjusted to the light. As soon as they did, Jaskier scrambled back against the headboard. Violet eyes were watching him, a dress extremely low cut and revealing, and covered in cornflower blue. Jaskier had spilt the last of the water onto his very obviously ruined chemise, but looking down at himself made him realize his normally pale peachy skin was  _ not that _ .

The fear that struck Jaskier was like a lightning bolt through his veins. He hadn’t seen the gold across his hands in literal years. Actual years had passed since he’d been brave enough to take it off. Jaskier risked a glance up at the woman looming above him. 

“You will answer my questions, Bardling.” Her voice was hard as ice.

His hand grasped at his chest, clutching uncomfortably on only blood-stiffened cloth. Whoever this woman was… this violet-eyed vixen… covered in an electric blue… across her fingers and knuckles, the hint of a line reaching down from her collarbone… whoever his purple bounder was, she had his pendants.

“I-it’s Jaskier,” he mumbled, mouth taking over as his brain had shut off, though his fear was vocally present. “My pendants. Where are they? I need them back!”

The woman tutted as she took a step back. Her dress flowed in the breeze around her. Where the fuck was the breeze coming from? “My questions, Bardling. The Djinn. How many wishes did you make?”

The … Djinn? Jaskier remembered Geralt’s sleeplessness forcing him to fish the river. He remembered arguing over the amphora. He remembered… Oh. Yes. “Two, maybe, I think. Though it could have been more, could have been less. The one I really wanted granted wasn’t taken care of.”

“What?” The woman’s eyes narrowed against him.

“I - well, G- I mean, - There was a particularly rude comment I wished to forget and since I can still remember it, dear Scary Woman, I think there might be some sort of issue with your Djinn. I mean if it doesn’t grant wishes what is it good for? Being spooky and trying to kill me? Wha-”

The mage’s voice cut in like a knife. “Quiet, Bardling.” She took to pacing at the end of the bed, which Jaskier was still hunched against the headboard of. The breeze grew and wavered in time with her movements. Jaskier’s mind was racing. What the fuck was going on? Geralt was going to take him to her … fuck what was her name? She was supposed to heal Jaskier though. Geralt would be coming back soon. He  _ needed  _ his pendants back. 

What would Jaskier do if Geralt saw him? What would he say? ‘Haha, sorry, mate I know we’ve been travelling together for over a decade now but I never told you I’m actually an elf and also you’re one of my soulmates, isn’t that funny? How strange that we found each other haha?’ Jaskier clutched at his wrist, his hands tight to his chest. The realization he had earlier but passed over, that this woman, this witch, was his Purple struck him again. 

The lines on his wrist burned and he rubbed them the slightest bit tighter. What on earth had happened to her? What had she been through? How’d she get so scary?

What the fuck was her  _ name _ ?

Nobody said anything until the anxiety was nearly drowning Jaskier and the Mage had likely walked herself a line in the floor.

“I suppose that you’ve already answered my other questions.”

Jaskier pointedly did not look at her. They were bound together and it felt almost indecent to see her in such a state without remembering her  _ name _ . “My necklaces, please, good woman.”He tried to keep the waver out of his voice. “Then we can talk. I’ll answer whatever questions you have. I’m sure you have plenty, I know I would.”

“A strange point of decency, for you.” Her voice was scathing. Jaskier wondered what had happened while he had been unconscious. “Answer me this and I shall return them.”

Jaskier did not look at her but nodded nonetheless. 

“Does he know?”

Jaskier’s heart, still feeling too cold in his chest, stuttered at the question. “What?”

“Your witcher, the man who brought you to me. Does he know?” The mage’s dress shifted at the corners of his vision and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to confront any of this yet. 

The breeze in the room, made of magic or something else equally terrifying, picked up and began to whip the bed-curtains into a frenzy. He needed his necklaces back before he could leave, and Jaskier wanted to  _ leave _ more than anything else.

She raised her voice to be heard over the wind. “Does. He. Know?”

Jaskier hugged himself a little tighter before sighing and giving into the fear. “No! No, no, of course he doesn’t.” Jaskier’s voice sounded broken, even to himself. “What do you take me for? A brave man?”

He breathed a sigh, heavy like a stone. It hurt to admit the truth after he’d spent so long trying to avoid it. Jaskier wasn’t able to dwell on it though, his mind whipped back up and reminded him of his missing charms. “My pendants, good woman?”

“One more.” The woman’s voice held no sympathy, cutting into the shards of his heart. “The spell for the bindings. What was done to modify it?”

Jaskier paused. What was she talking about? He still hadn’t looked at her, continued his refusal until  _ their  _ binding wasn’t laid bare, but his confusion must have shown in the parts of him she was watching, face or otherwise.

“How to phrase it so you’ll understand. Hm. The magic is different, it’s been shaved away in some spots. How?”

“It hides them, that's all I know. I was given it by my mother when I was still a child.” Jaskier’s hand tightened against his chest. It felt strange to be in the right spot but not have the small metal object digging into his closed palm. 

She groaned quietly, the sound almost lost under the growing wind. “Describe everything. Every detail. And be succinct, Bard, if you want your precious jewellery back.”

Jaskier cowered under the barely described anger in her voice. Oh, if he weren't scared out of his mind, he would have  _ so many _ questions. “I don’t know what you mean! I swear! I put on the charm, the bindings vanish!”

“And do they vanish for everyone else too?” She asked pointedly.

Jaskier hesitated. Of course, he could avoid thinking about it as much as possible but it’d always come back to get him somehow, those deep dark fears of his. “I - I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” The answer made her ice-cold voice break into flames, seething, and it felt like a blade heading straight to his brain. The wind began to howl in the small space. 

“I don’t!” Jaskier couldn’t help himself any longer. He looked at the mage with her anger rolling off of her in waves. Just below her temple was a small flash of the almost too vibrant blue from where he had fallen out of a tree as a youth. Jaskier focused on her eyes, that surging violet colour, and the shade of his own soul which was just beside them. “My siblings still have my marks on them when I wear the charm, but, beyond that, I’ve never checked! I don't know if they vanish for G- for someone like you!”

The mage sneered then turned away. Inside the room, the air was still circulating unnaturally fast, whipping up hair and cloth in what would soon be a terrible gale, but she didn’t seem to notice. She paced again at the foot of the bed and now that Jaskier had opened his eyes to see her, he couldn’t look away. It was all too surreal.

“Fine,” she eventually relented, tossing a bundle of metal and cordage at him without turning. “A ritual change then, probably, meant to keep your blood ties out of the hiding spell.”

“Sure, fine, absolutely,” Jaskier agreed without thinking as he made a hole in the knots large enough for his head to fit through. He could organize them later, for now, he just needed them on. “Thanks for this lovely chat, Witch-Mine, but I do think I’ll be going now, I left my … cat … on the stove?”

He hopped off the bed and tried to skirt around the woman, still pacing in the room. The wind was still growing and he wondered just what the hell had happened. Why had she wanted to know about the Djinn? Where in the world was Geralt?

That question was answered nearly as soon as he got outside. The witcher was stalking towards the building just as Jaskier was trying to run from it. The bard had nary a moment to even check that his ears were properly hidden before Geralt was pushing past him, muttering something about stopping Yennefer. 

Yennefer. So that was her name. Jaskier was too shocked to finally have that information to really put up a fight against Geralt. The house was shaking and some random human ran out before he could get a word in edgewise about them leaving. Geralt went back in to stop the mage doing something with the Djinn and Jaskier was in over his head, there was too much magic at play, what in the world did he know about it and what would it be like to lose two bounders in one day because there was certainly no way he could stop that building from collapsing and -

And.

Well. 

_ Breathe in. Breathe out.  _

Jaskier realized as he came to terms with just how alive the witch and the witcher were, he hadn’t had them in the first place.

\---

In the cold before winter, when the rain which fell threatened to freeze in the night, Jaskier would find himself called over to the witcher’s side. They wouldn’t do more than just sleep against one another for warmth. Despite that, he would dream of sunny-amber-yellow and electric-glowing-violet and what it might look like to hold a pale body covered in cornflower blue. 

Maybe not “despite”, maybe “because of”. 

And once the morning would crest the horizon, Jaskier would wake alone and clear the last of the campsite. He’d check the cordage for his necklaces, ensure that it had not worn out yet and they were still very much present, and he would pretend the night had never happened.

\---

Geralt was off dealing with something big and deadly and scary and probably rather smelly as well, Jaskier told himself to rationalize not wanting to follow along. He was still doing his duty as the witcher’s bard when he stayed in town to make them some extra coin. And the monster would be terrible, as always, so why should he be bothered to follow along where he wasn’t needed? And following would mean that both him and Geralt would cart around some terrible stench that not even a citrus oil could banish fully anyways. Plus, Gerald was always cranky when he tagged along. No, no, Jaskier was fine in town. 

And if he had pulled back some since the Djinn incident, who was to know? Or rather, who was to care? Certainly not the witcher, who was too distracted to even get their room keys if a mage was mentioned when they got town. Before he could get too maudlin, Jaskier remembered Roach’s ornery response to him not whispering confessions as he braided flowers into her hair.  _ Roach _ cared in whatever small way a horse could. But he'd been seeing less of Roach. Geralt would be gone for a few days at a time, only to return at the dead of night when Jaskier was either caught up performing or trying to distract himself with the pleasures of the flesh or even just straight up passed out. 

He was preparing for his evening set when he noticed the air from the window shift. Jaskier couldn’t sense things the same way the witcher could, but the old magic in his veins could tell when chaos was nearby. He glanced to the window in his room and saw two horses returning to town, instead of just the one he was expecting. Something wicked and paint took hold of him and Jaskier wondered if he could perhaps cancel his playing tonight. 

And then he remembered how Yennefer and Geralt had left off last time, and decided he wanted to be as far from this room as possible, and be making as much noise as possible so he couldn’t hear them. Somewhere in his dreams, Geralt’s moans were music to the bard’s ears but in real life, they felt like a knife to his chest. He picked up his lute and the now empty mug he’d brought up with him and headed down to the tavern room. 

Jaskier was halfway through his rendition of  _ We All Lift Together _ , a working song from near the southern coasts that always got good crowd reactions, when the door opened and the mood was ruined. For all of his steps forward improving the public opinions of witchers in general, Geralt’s scowl was like two steps back.

_ “This, a song of sons and daughters _

_ Hide, the heart of who we are _

_ Making peace to build our future _

_ Strong, united, working 'til we fall” _

Jaskier’s voice carried the song alone now and it sounded strange to his ears. He hoped the allure of the familiar song would call people back and he wouldn’t have to finish it alone. Too many eyes were following the witcher and the mage as they found a table in the furthest corner.

_ “Cold, the air and water flowing _

_ Hard, the land we call our home _

_ Push, to keep the dark from coming _

_ Feel the weight of what we owe” _

A few people, those sitting closest to Jaskier with the worst view of the newcomers had started to mumble along again. If it hadn’t been for Geralt and Yennefer walking when he did, he knew the crowd would still be eating out of his palms. He’d need to rearrange the order of the next few songs. 

Something high energy, something extremely catchy, and something he could dance to so they’d look at him and not Geralt. Jaskier stood and stomped in time with his words, enticing more drunk patrons to return to him. 

_ “This, the song of sons and daughters _

_ Hide, the heart of who we are _

_ Making peace to build our future _

_ Strong, united, working 'til we fall” _

One of the people at the bar chugged their ale and belted out that last line with him. Jaskier grinned despite the sombre lyrics. Work songs were always like that. 

_ “And we all lift, and we're all adrift _

_ Together, together” _

The man at the bar was stomping along, slapping his hands against his legs also, and inspiring his friends around him to do the same.

_ “Through the cold mist, 'til we're lifeless _

_ Together, together” _

Jaskier was pleased to see he’d nearly gotten the room to forget that they’d been interrupted. As the last few chords of the work song faded into walls, Jaskier paused to sip at the water provided by the barkeep. He quickly settled on what he figured was high spirited enough to keep the crowd in his favour.

“Now good fellows, I shall take requests after this next one I wish to share. It’s one I learned long ago in a tavern much like this one,” Jaskier trailed off as he started strumming the quick, catchy, and easy melody to  _ Whisky, You’re the Devil _ .

Hours later, Jaskier sat at the bar and considered his options. He doubted Yennefer would remain for … nightly pleasures, ugh, in an inn such as this one - Jaskier paused to offer silent apologies to the barkeep who he’d just mildly insulted, if only in his own head - but that didn’t mean he wanted to walk in on whatever they were doing anyway. His deliberations were resolved when Yennefer entered again, alone, and wearing her mask of careful distaste and neutrality. 

“Oh, how good of you to allow yourself to the company of us lowly humans,” Jaskier called as she came to sit close to him. Not quite beside, but close enough in what was a nearly empty room.

“For you to consider yourself a lowly human, Bard, you must be in a right mood.” Yennefer remarks, somehow having emphasis on both lowly, and human, in entirely different yet completely the same way. She smirked at him as she called for the barkeep to bring out some wine and leave the bottle if the man wouldn’t mind.

Jaskier bristled but restrained himself. He was rather curious why she had shown up now and getting into an argument would do neither of them any good.

Yen poured a glass for herself, and then slid the bottle over to him, motioning for him to refill his own cup.

“So what is it you require, great and illustrious Witch?” Jaskier asked quietly around the wine he sipped. “Other than spirits, of course, but who doesn’t need those.”

“Oh drink your wine bardling, and stop thinking so loudly.” Yennefer admonished him as she sipped herself. “I wish to talk.”

“Well that I can do plenty of. If you have ever heard mention of me it’s probably first and foremost that I am the best bard on this continent, and then second, that I have more words to say than most books.” The wine plied his mouth open, but that didn’t mean Jaskier would stop himself from talking in circles until either he passed out or Yen left and he could go back to sulking alone. “Unless you care for a song, in which case I shall give you a song worth singing until the end of days.”

“Must you always be so noisy?” 

“I’m trying to make the hangover I feel tomorrow hurt in advance, Yennefer, I do hope you understand.” Jaskier had never been one for complete honesty, so that surprised even himself. Perhaps they were given better wine than he had first thought. 

The woman sighed into her cup before downing it in one solid, inelegant go. “A clumsy way to go about it, but I’m sure you’ve had practice.”

Jaskier let out a hollow laugh. “So what did you want then?”

“I wanted to ensure your discretion.” Yennefer was downright terrifying, but there was practised ease to how neutral she acted as she sat beside him. 

“About you and Geralt?” Jaskier kept his voice low. It wasn’t that Yen scared him anymore, not really, but her power and her past which edged fear into his heart. He was bound to her, and some romantic part of him would never be able to say no to what she asked, no matter how it hurt. “Cross my soul, mage-mine.”

“No, no, not that.” Yennefer sighed again and poured the last of the bottle into her cup. “Our binding. That. Your discretion is needed. I cannot have my enemies thinking they can get to me through someone as weak as you.”

He nearly choked on his wine as he laughed at that. “Yen, you took my -” he caught wind of how loud he was being in the nearly empty, and otherwise quiet room “- you took my necklaces off me and that was the first time in over a decade. It’ll be at least a decade before they come off again, lest I’m dead and it not be my worry anymore.”

“Don’t be thinking this makes us friends, Bard.” Yen murmured as she nodded, seemingly pleased with him. 

Another person added themselves to the wall of reasons Jaskier kept himself hidden. It was a barrier which protected the truth, his own cowardice, but it was a barrier none-the-less. Jaskier smiled, a little bitterly if anyone cared to tell, and sipped at his wine.

\---

Geralt was always …  _ more _ at the midpoint between visits from the mage. Perhaps not happier, the man seemed eternally grumpy, but at least less closed off. He was more present perhaps, more willing to watch and listen instead of pretending. Jaskier had spent years with him. He knew the tells for when Geralt was just faking it. It took the first half of time for the witcher to regain his stride long enough to be present, and once they passed it, he was too far gone, too distracted. Most often, there had been an event, something having happened to remind him that the mage had been gone for too long and her fate was currently unknown.

“So where to next?” Jaskier asked as they ate a meagre breakfast in a town that wanted them gone before the sun had even set last night. “The summer breeze will be nice in the morning but you know how I loathe to walk in the noon-day sun, Geralt.”

He found no response, and turned to inspect his companion.

“Geralt? Are you awake or have you finally found a way to sleep while eating? I know you think that if there was a way to do it safely, the efficiency would be so worth it.” Jaskier let out too many words where none were needed. It was what he was best at. “In all seriousness, do you have a plan or should I ask for rumours on our way out?”

Still nothing, and he finally noticed that faraway edge to the witcher’s eyes. Jaskier sighed and gave the man’s arm a hard knock. That shook Geralt from his thoughts and he glared at the bard.

“I know you loathe listening to me, but I want you to know I loathe having to repeat myself so neither of us is happy. What direction are we headed next?”

“East. Word of something in the woods.”

“Ah, good,” Jaskier mumbled as he downed the last of the bland food on his plate. ( _ In. Out. In. Out. _ ) “I am so fond of the ambiguous “something in the woods”. It always leads so much up to my imagination and that is where both the fear and compositions come from.”

Geralt just grumbled some unintelligible response. If Jaskier had been newer to the other’s companionship, he would have thought Geralt was responding to him.

He couldn’t know for sure, not until she returned, but he was sure they’d passed that midpoint now. It was just a matter of time.

\---

_ I was a spook for you _

_ Another ghoul _

_ I was a fool for you _

_ Another stool-pigeon _

Jaskier scratched the words into his notebook. Were they too much? He hated writing heartbreak. His heart had nothing to break over anyways. Another line, unbidden, wrote itself across the page. 

_ And you took north _

_ When things went south _

He forced himself to stop. Heartbreak was not what he was meant to write. Jaskier tore the page from the small book and wondered if he could get Geralt to burn it without reading it. He sighed, he’d probably not manage to get the witcher to use  _ Igni _ in the first place. Jaskier tried to appease himself with squishing the page into a ball, flattening it, and then ripping it into the smallest shreds he possibly could. 

Jaskier sighed and dropped his head against the notebook once that was done, trying to force his thoughts elsewhere. He wanted to write a ballad about the last job, a pair of bruxae who had infiltrated a lord’s house and were slowly clearing their way through all the men in the region. But his brain was running in circles around his pain. He wouldn’t look his pain in the face. There was nothing to be pained about.

_ But you're no bold villain _

_ You're bought and sold _

_ To have a soulmate _

_ You need a soul _

_ Not born of men _

_ But some bog-mother moon _

_ One of us is not normal _

_ And it might not be you _

\---

The next time they found Yennefer, Jaskier was alone again. She’d promised not to speak of his secrets, just as he promised not to mention hers. Their greeting is a nod of recognition and nothing else. Jaskier did not pause his singing, Yen did not pause her tailing after the lord.

If he had known that  _ she _ was the mage in service to this backwater noble, Jaskier might have stayed to play just at the local tavern instead. Or even just the streets. It wasn’t raining out, and it would have saved him the emotional turmoil of it. Despite how much he wants to hate her, regardless of his hidden bindings, he cannot. She’s quickly becoming to him something akin to perhaps Annaleise or Gerome, the most annoying of his siblings. For a moment, Jaskier wondered if Geralt would have warned him. 

Jaskier chastised himself as he transitioned into, ironically,  _ Toss a Coin to your Witcher _ . Geralt could probably smell her lilac and gooseberry perfume from the road to the town, he would have known that's who the Lord was talking about when a sorcerer was mentioned. Hell that's probably why Geralt even agreed to spend the night in the lord’s castle-manor instead of going back on the road immediately. Winter was coming soon and they were a fair way from the northern lands where Geralt always left his bard behind. 

He should have known something was wrong when he didn’t need to beg for them to stay in town tonight. 

Jaskier stopped himself from languishing in the heartbreak before he accidentally missed a chord or his voice cracked. To be in a noble’s court and make a mistake like that while he was surely too distracted to properly cover it up would be minstral suicide. And Jaskier would rather die before he gave that stupid egotistical brat Valdo Marx anything more to gloat about. 

When his set was over, when the nobles and off-duty knights in the house began to slink away from the gathering hall, Jaskier was left empty. Wanting. Waiting. He slung his lute against his back and poured himself a glass of wine from whatever had been left at the table. 

One of the servants came to collect the bottle soon after, and he winked when the servant met his eyes. They blushed, pink skin bright against the honey-brown line which trailed over their cheekbones in spidery lines. He wondered what sort of event would cause a scar like that, but simply smiled and moved on. Tonight, of all nights, was one where he would find the least comfort in some stranger’s bed. 

Jaskier continued to lounge about in the large hall, unsure of what would happen next. Yennefer always made sure their paths crossed whenever they were in the same space. Being bound together, even unhappily, made it inevitable. And as the haze from the wine sat warm in his stomach, Jaskier was willing to admit to himself he wasn’t quite sure the way back to his assigned quarters for the night.

Without anything better to do, he elected to take the nearest seat and wait. They were bound together, she’d show eventually, make some scathing remark about how his doublet was beginning to show it’s age, and then give him instructions just precise enough to get him to his room after an hour of searching. She enjoyed small cruelties like that. Jaskier leaned his head against the back of the chair and huffed. Yennefer was beautiful, and powerful, and quick-witted, but had such a mean streak. If only he didn’t like her so damn much he wouldn’t feel so bad being jealous over everything.

He knocked his head against the chair a second time as someone cleared their throat behind him. “Did you lose your sense of direction as well as your sense of fashion?”

Jaskier snorted. Low hanging fruit was always what she took first. 

“You know there are plenty of beds in this place to sleep in. One is even meant for you alone.” Yennefer drawled as she took a seat beside him. 

“Ah, but one cannot perform lyrically in a bed, mage. You should know that is where I let my other talents shine. Today was about the concert.”

It was Yennefer’s turn to snort, though she somehow made it leagues more refined and haughty sounding. “You really would feel more at home in the tavern by the river.” 

Jaskier remembered the tavern by the river, a stinking little building with an Inn beside it. They both looked like the hay-beds inside would be a week old at least, and the ale watered down with spit. Not that he liked to judge a book by its cover or anything like that. “And you look like you belong in that river yourself. I’m sure a soak in the waters would do you well.”

The water, which was full of refuse and murky swirls of mud. A fact they were both well aware of. He was rather proud of that.

Yen laughed in response. A real laugh, one of her rare ones. Jaskier preened inwardly that their back and forth, short as it was, was enough to brighten her mood enough for a laugh like that. She was a bitch but oh did he want to live up to her expectations. It made up for how dejected Geralt made him feel in the days and perhaps even weeks before everyone ran together again.

“How much wine or intrigue do I need to ply you with to get you to remind me of my way to my room?” He asked, getting to the point. “Or shall I just annoy you into you portalling me back there.”

“I actually wished to ask something of you. A favour to call in, for saving your life.” She remarked, easily stepping around his upfront request.

“Oh? A favour to ask? Well, Yennefer, if you wanted me in your bed that badly I can surely oblige.” Jaskier covered his worry with a flirt. What in the world was she going to ask?

“The one time you were in my bed bleeding out is the one time you will ever be in my bed, Jaskier. Now listen. Find some way to get Geralt to leave before he comes to find me.”

Jaskier sputtered into a cough. “W-what?” He paused, centred himself and his breathing -  _ In. Out. In. Out. _ \- and asked again. “Why in the world would you want that?”

Yen sighed and dropped her chin onto one hand. “Last time we saw each other he annoyed me. I’m not willing to forgive him yet.”

He squawked. “That was months ago! Yen! What did he do to annoy you so badly?”

“He got mad when I asked what sort of fruit-filled pancakes he wanted for breakfast.” Her voice was carefully neutralized, but Jaskier could tell there was old anger under it still.

“It’s blueberries,” Jaskier answered without thinking. He'd never actually shared pancakes with the man, it was something only a night with a spoiled mage could provide, but he knew Geralt's favourite berries. “Ah, uh, sorry. Why didn’t he just say it?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t bother to ask. Something about planning on not bothering with breakfast in the first place,” she admitted as she rolled her eyes. 

Jaskier bristled. Geralt was bad at speaking, yes, but Yen was just as bad at listening. Every fight between them seemed to be equally their faults. Even his love for Geralt couldn’t save the man from a critique of his faults. Jaskier was something like 18 years into their friendship, he had no illusions about Geralt anymore.

But he couldn’t bring up that it was partly Yen’s fault too, at least not to her face. “And you’re still upset about this?”

Yen narrowed her eyes. “Does it matter? I just want you to keep him away for now.”

“And how should I do that, dear Yenna?” Jaskier leaned back into his seat, waiting to see what she would say next.

Her eyes narrowed impossibly further at the nickname but she ignored it. “I don’t know. Tell him I’ve left for Aretuza and you want an escort to wherever you plan to winter this year.”

Jaskier turned away from her to stare at the ceiling and think. “I recently got news my sister and her partner are in Novigrad for a time. I am loath to return to my home area, but until she returns there, I would happily be with her.”

“So use that to convince him to leave here without me.” Yennefer of Vengerberg would never beg, but the ice in her voice was as close as she would get. 

A long time ago, Jaskier vowed to help his bounders however he could once he found them. He sighed. “He won’t appreciate not getting a night’s rest unless you actually plan to disappear for long enough for him to fall asleep.”

“I can do that, as long as you make him leave in the morning.”

Jaskier looked back at her, noticing how her raven locks reflected the warm candlelight. “Fine. Deal.”

“Good.” Yen smiled at him, a predatory thing which had only softened at the edges barely since they first met. 

He wondered if he would ever be someone she trusted enough for advice so she never got this annoyed with her man in the first place or if he would have to learn to read her and silently influence like he did the witcher. 

“Now, the way back to your room …”

\---

Jaskier’s chances don’t grow the less Yennefer and Geralt seem happy together. The years were not kind to their relationship. Jaskier knew all of the emotions held in the man's yellow-amber-gold eyes, how to read them and how to tell. It hurt him to see his friend so upset, but Geralt was never one to understand his emotions well enough to figure out how to go about fixing them. Jaskier’s chances never grew, so he followed like a lovesick dog and provided what comfort and companionship he was allowed.

But as he drank a glass of wine, lounging on one of the chairs in the living room she’d stolen from the mayor of this town, Jaskier had to admit he felt a little vindicated. She wasn’t complaining in a true way, but she was airing her grievances all the same. Jaskier figured that Yen had to be several bottles deep to even be talking to him like this in the first place.

“He is an ass.”

“Aye, but he certainly has a nice one.” 

“But that doesn't mean he gets a pass.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“He makes you walk behind that horse everywhere, does he not?”

“I enjoy walking but yes.”

“I swear he cares for that horse more than anything else.”

“I quite think you’re right, but Roach surely deserves it.”

“She  _ is _ a rather nice horse.”

“Too intelligent for a normal horse, I swear there’s some kikimora in her.”

“When that lummox comes back for you I think I may check.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it would annoy him, were it true.”

Jaskier snickered at that. He figured it’d annoy Geralt too unless he was already aware. Was that something the man’s heightened senses could pick up? It may explain why they’d been travelling together, on and off for ages now and he’d only ever had the one horse. A normal animal would certainly be slowing down by now.

But at the same time, would Geralt ever even notice that? Those he was close to during his winters in Oxenfurt or Cintra, depending on his mood that year, they would comment that he looked like a man half his age and they were right. Geralt would never ask, he seemed to deplore learning anything about his bard that the bard did not offer up unthinkingly, but he hadn’t seemed to even notice in the first place.

“Where shall you winter this year, Bard-mine?” Yennefer asked after a few minutes of companionable silence. They had come a way. “Shall I be dropping you off somewhere special, or will you be following the dire oaf out of town?”

“I think that I should return to Cintra for the winter. The little cub is getting big and I hope to instil a love of the classics before she’s old enough to know.” Jaskier waved lazily to where his lute sat on a table with the rest of the materials Geralt had left behind before leaving on a hunt. “A portal would be lovely, but I don’t know if I am ready to leave him yet.”

“I won't come to find you once you are, you know,” Yen said. “The offer is now or never.”

“You are drunk, dear witch-mine, and you just want to get under his skin.” Jaskier sighed and sipped at his wine. “We always do this while there is plenty of alcohol around but I think mayhaps you’ve had a bit too much. We both know my leaving wouldn’t hurt him in the way you want to.”

Yen frowned. “You are worth more to him than you know, Jaskier.” Her eyes gained a mischievous glint to unrefined for her to be sober in any respect.“And it would be funny, you know that look he gets when something happens he wasn’t expecting.” 

He let out an undignified snort. Jaskier had to admit he was quite fond of that expression, especially when he had done something good and capable and it felt like a quite “Fuck you” and a “See? I am worth more than you think” to the man he constantly wanted to impress. “No, no. Do not try to do this again Yenna. We both know I am too much of a coward to try my claim.”

“You’re hurting though, Jaskier.” Yen stated simply before stifling a yawn. The liquor she’d had meant this night was nearly over. “Don’t you deserve something in return?

They both gravitated around the witcher, both slowly gaining wounds from his actions, but neither able to refuse fully. Jaskier wasn’t sure what it was that Yennefer saw in Geralt because he himself saw everything in the man. His mother always told him to be careful with his heart, and he felt plenty careful. Jaskier smiled.

“I’m getting all I need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Geralt will have a role to play in this fic lelshfefjkrt I know I've been neglecting him, but I have something planned to make up for it. I promise!
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter are _We All Lift Together_ from Warframe, a brief mention of _Whisky, You're the Devil_ by The Clancy Brothers, and _No Bold VIllain_ by Timber Timbre. If you're willing to listen to any one song from this chapter make it No Bold Villain! I plan to use more Timber Timbre songs in the future, and they're all very very good. As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://floralb0t.tumblr.com/?)


	4. 4; Alternative Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Geralt and Yennefer have been going through these past few years... Plus a little bit of timeline clarification in the end notes!

Geralt had grown up without a mark to his body. He never shied away from things which would create scars. By the time he was five, he had several of the small patterns across his skin, teeth marks from the town tom cats, scrapes to the heels of his palms, a handful of patches on his knees and elbows from hard falls. His mother always bandaged them well, cleaned them thoroughly, but never chastised him for his scars. It was custom to let them occur. It made it easier to find one’s family of destiny. 

He was seven when the winters became too lean. He didn’t keep himself from scarring, and the trails gave him many. What little hope and humanity Geralt had left vanished when he realized not only did the other boys, the ones who survived with him, but all of the adult Witcher in Kaer Morhen were covered in scars but left blank from marks. Something human and hopeful died at that.

\---

Yennefer had seen people with marks and people without. Her parents didn’t have any, at least not for each other, nor her mother for her stepfather. One of the girl’s down the road had one for her older brother and the brother several for their father. The mother had none, but she didn’t love her family any less. And the merchant at the nearby market who would sometimes leave out scraps for the village cats had several, though she couldn’t remember who they were for, or from.

But Yennefer was not the little girl down the road nor the merchant with the cats, she was herself. If she was going to have one for anyone, she would have wanted it to be her mother. Yenna loved the woman, up until the day that she didn’t. And on that day, she thanked the universe that she had no marks. No ties. She could leave and never return and these people would hold nothing over her. She took solace in that.

\---

Geralt learned much over his travels. He sees much. The teachings of Kaer Morhen are basically etched into his very bones with how hard he broke them in training. It doesn’t stop the first few jobs from being tough. The first year in fact was hard all around. What little faith he’d had left in humanity nearly fled him at his treatment. Not that he didn’t expect it however, Vesemir taught him well. It’s safer on oneself and the ones around to not have an entourage, to not have friends, to be feared, to be hated.

One night, alone at his fire with Roach, the first Roach, though he didn’t know that yet, Geralt paused the cleaning of his blades at the flash of something downright grey in the firelight. Along his fingers, in small patterns not unlike the teeth of perhaps an overeager cat or small dog, were pinpricks of colour. It was likely either blue or pale green, though the warm firelight obscured the exact nature. 

He looked at them for a long time.

It is better to not have friends.

His fingers, covered in small markings.

It is better to be feared.

He was bound.

It is better to be hated.

Geralt continued his slow, meticulous work, and tried not to think of it.

A week later, when he was nearly chased from a town via hurled stones and venomous words, he looked at that little bit of blue, so bright and beautiful, and decided he needed to get some gloves.

\---

Yennefer had just become a mage when the small marks in blue started to show on her skin. She wasn’t sure when they started appearing, but one day she noticed a mark on her temple, a scrape to her knee, small bites to her fingers. A child, most likely. She was not actually King Demavend’s advisor, so she disappeared for just long enough to get a masking spell. For all that she threatened and seduced, she could tell it was only strong enough to hide her marks on her own skin. Somewhere out there, someone, likely a little tyke, was running around with the purple of the eyes _she’d_ asked to keep across their body.

Something in her blood raged at the marks then. It was a marker. A tie. A _binding._ Yennefer of Vengerberg _refused_ to be bound. She was ageless now and on her way to becoming one of the most powerful beings in the realm. Some squalling brat, no matter who they were to grow into, would hold onto a piece of her.

It is better to not have friends, it is better to be feared, it is better to be hated, as long as she gained the power she sought. 

\---

Geralt had never been good with time, he realized. He knew years had passed since those first marks showed up, but at times it feels like it was just yesterday. Sometimes he can barely think when he looks at them, the slowly growing marks over his fingers and hands. The scrapes on his knees and elbows, though those fade into non-existence. He’s bound to a child, someone who is well taken care of, someone who will grow and learn and change, someone who is mortal, someone who can die.

Some days he smiled. A real smile. His heart was too burned in the trials, in his lessons, to allow him a grin, but his smile felt large enough. He may not be human, but he is worth something. The inherent chaos of the world has judged him, and he is not wanting. Geralt felt something like joy swirl inside him like a particularly good song or pleasant breeze.

Some days he refused to remove his gloves, even in the dead of the forest, covered in drying blood, though he knows it makes his movements clumsy. He could not afford to walk with a companion on the path. Geralt would never subject someone else to this. They would not be safe on the road, and looking after another person would only make Geralt clumsier. The path was made to be walked alone.

Today was a bad day. He must have gained a new mark, Geralt figured, as he had been thrown out of a town faster than normal. The rocks no doubt hurt Roach more than him. He dismounted near a stream to check himself over and to give his horse a moment’s rest. 

Geralt looked at his reflection in a pool of mostly-still water nearby and only narrowed his eyes when he found a flash of too-bright blue on his temple. It was small and at the edge of his hairline, but if he left his hair down, it was easily visible between his moon-light hairs. Geralt glared and combed his fingers through the hair, pulling it this way and that to see what would cover it the best. None worked fully, but if he pulled his hair back, it was hidden some. Not perfect, he decided, but it would have to do.

\---

Yen would check, occasionally. The ring on her finger is but one of many both in terms of jewellery and enchanted objects, and she knows that it is always working. So occasionally, once every few years, she would pull off the ring and stand in front of a mirror. For all that it was an extremely expensive thing, it looked plain and boring next to some of her gaudier jewels. When she was wearing it, it matched the plain (but beautiful, so perfect) expanse of skin she now lived in.

When it was off, it was just an ugly reminder of the hatred deep in her heart. Like every other time it was removed, her skin was alight in the almost unnaturally vibrant blue. It was mostly contained to her lower arms and legs, easy places for a clumsy child to be injured. There was also a new mark on her temple, small but by its placement, nearly impossible to hide. 

She roughly forced the ring back on her hand and sighed. She could not bear to look at the evidence of destiny’s control over her for a moment longer. If it was just slightly larger, she could use it as a sign, something to check every blue-eyed youngling for when she left for a new town. Yennefer’s internal firestorm quieted for a moment as she considered that possibility.

What if she did meet her bounder? Her ... Blue? 

The storm roared back to life nigh instantly. She would have a series of extremely strong words to give. And then she’d find out if the marks remained when one half was turned into a frog or a slug or some other such creature. They stuck around after death, of course, so she wouldn’t be free just yet. 

\---

Geralt washed out the cut he gained to his thigh and thanked his training for ensuring that he was prepared enough not to get hurt worse. Bleeding out would help no one. Especially if it was to a single aghoul, a sight to humans sure, but surely not such a terrible enough to kill a Witcher. It was uncomfortable, sure, but he needed to ensure it was clean so it could heal properly and not get infected. Infection would be the real death of him.

The light of the fire he’d quickly lit with the help of _Igni_ was just enough to see by for a normal human, making it perfectly bright for a man like himself. Geralt nearly tore his gloves as he pulled them off so he could grip the needle he used for stitches. He winced on practice, but to be honest, the adrenaline kept him numb enough that what little pain which could have made it through his constitution was blocked anyways. His stitches were tight, but perhaps unpracticed. Normally he wouldn’t bother.

After a few minutes, he sighed and did his best to carefully tie off the thread. At least he still had usage of both of his arms. And with any luck, or faith in his mutations, it’d be fine by the day after tomorrow. Geralt considered pulling his gloves back on but compared the benefit of the fabric to his hands. For one, both of his gloves were now dried and rather crunchy to the tough with how much viscera had gotten on them, and for two, he wasn’t going back to town until morning. There was nobody there now to see or care about his …

His …

Geralt turned his hands over carefully, inspecting them both in the dying firelight. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Geralt was a witcher, incapable of hope. And yet. He hoped it was just a trick of the light. Because his fingers were bare.

The morning light returned the blue which had become a source of comfort for the man. It was a symbol that the trail of the grasses had not removed all the humanity from him. He kept his gloves off until he returned to town, to remind himself they were present. 

It hurt like hell, the morning they were gone and did not return. Geralt stopped taking his gloves off if he could manage it.

\---

It had been a few months since Yennefer last checked. She braced herself for a torrent of uncomfortable emotions but decided it was time to see if there was anything telling she could finally find across her skin and pulled off the ring. Confused, she looked down at her hands and then back up at the mirror she always stood in front of to inspect her Blue’s marks.

They were … gone?

She contorted herself left and right, composure breaking down somewhat. 

The marks were gone!

A grin plastered Yennefer’s face.

Somehow, someway, Blue was gone. Yennefer of Vengerberg was _bound_ no longer! She danced around the mom for a moment, waltzing with herself as an expression of glee. After a few minutes, she stopped and quickly dressed, intent to take advantage of this good mood.

For a moment, she considered grabbing the ring from the dressing table and putting it back on. After something like a decade, it felt strange to not have the small thing on her finger alongside all the others. Yennefer’s hands felt slightly unbalanced, the one finger this ring was removed from feeling too light in comparison to the others which still held their spelled jewellery. 

Yennefer really looked at the ring. It was an ugly little thing, garish yet boring compared to her normal tastes. At the time she got it, she hadn’t cared about its appearance as long as the spell would hold. Now though, when it’s masking spell was useless, it was worth barely more than a random trinket compared to her other accessories.

She scoffed and turned away. It really was an ugly little thing.

The next morning, Yennefer rose and started to go about her day. Lightly terrorising the townsfolk was always entertaining in a way little else managed to be, though she didn’t have the heart to do anything too harsh. She wondered how quickly she could scam the local tavern owner out of their best wines. 

Yen was halfway to the tavern when she noticed that the townsfolk she passed were looking at her strangely. Normally she preferred that they not look at her at all unless she was trying to get them to do something for her. Instead, people were staring. Especially the children, with looks of awe. She narrowed her eyes and drew herself up higher as she walked. If people were to stare they would only see someone more powerful and important than themselves.

The town the mage was currently in was a slight wealthier than most this small. She chalked it up to good trading, but it meant that the Tavern had good glass windows. She hesitated a moment before passing, just long enough to catch sight of her reflection.

…

The glass did not remain whole for much longer.

Yennefer’s mind raced in circles as she stalked back to the house she had taken over for the time. Blue must have a masking spell of their own. One more powerful than her own, if it made the marks on her disappear. That was the only reason they would have disappeared earlier only to return now. Of course the world would not be so kind as to release her, of course not. What was she thinking? 

Yennefer refused to look at her reflection, or her hands until she returned the ugly little ring to its rightful place. Ugly, ugly little thing.

\---

Geralt’s Path is littered with killed monsters, thrown stones, and worn-through gloves. He hardly noticed when they started calling him “the Butcher” as they threw him out. It wasn’t like he wanted to stay in the first place. 

When his last horse had gotten too old, Geralt decided not to replace her immediately. It meant moving was slower and he was only able to carry so much in supplies, often having to make dedicated camps before any large or important hunt, but he felt slightly better about it. Horses deserved care, and no doubt would be happiest if they could spend at least a few nights every other week in a proper stable. With how Geralt travelled, a horse would only get that for a night at most every three weeks or so. And that was only when he found a town that was willing to let him stay the night.

No, Geralt wouldn’t subject a horse to that. At least not until he got truly tired of being his own packhorse, that or he encountered one of his brothers on the road and they had or knew of a place to acquire road-adjusted horses. Until then, he kept a scant number of potions, and only the rarest ingredients, as well as a thin roll, his most valuable tools, and a steady supply of gloves. 

Only the things he couldn’t scavenge or hunt down in the forests, only the things that were necessary.

He didn’t look at his reflection, that was easy, he was rarely in a position where he could. The witcher kept his body covered, though this was largely a must and didn’t change anything. Even without thinking, his hair was always in that mostly pulled back state which at one point, had done the best he could to hide the old markings. Geralt always wore gloves. It kept the memory of blue off his hands, at least enough so that he was able to work. 

At night Geralt was haunted by a woman who wasn’t a monster but had been killed like one.

At night Geralt was haunted by a phrase implying he had a Destiny and that somewhere, at some point in the future, he would be needed by someone.

At night Geralt was haunted by the loss of the one thing he thought kept him a person.

Witchers were not human, they were something more, something less, not a sum of their parts. They were monsters with purpose. They were the deadly shadows in the daylight. They were the night terrors of any person with half a brain. 

To have a soulmate, you need a soul. That was the lastest lesson Geralt had learned: Witchers did not have souls.

\---

Yennefer grew what power she could. 

She seethed.

She doesn’t know what she will do when she meets the whoreson, or whoreson’s daughter, she supposed, but she’d make it hurt nonetheless.

Yennefer of Vengerberg kept the ring on her finger despite how it didn’t match the rest of her aesthetic and continued her work trying to figure out a way to get the marks _off._

It made sense for her to be working on secret experiments, hidden away from the rest of the mages and the council. She refused to be an advisor for some idiotic king, too caught up in his own personal dramas to be worth anything, and so she didn’t. Yennefer did what she pleased, far removed from her peers.

Willing test subjects are not exactly hard to come by. There’s always someone who’s fallen out of love. Who cannot bear the memories attached to a dead family member’s scars? Who cannot afford to love as freely as _Destiny_ wants them to?

Yen made sure they knew that there would be risks. She was testing out new magic on them. Most had been willing to do anything. Most didn’t care if they lived or died. Those who did, they left and she promised there were no hard feelings. 

And there weren’t, not really. She’d always leave them with a small handful of whatever the local currency was, to keep their mouths closed. Those that stuck around and felt the woes of failure were less pleased. Sometimes their skin would scar over in horrific ways, sometimes they would lose more than just the marks, becoming little more than shells. Sometimes nothing at all happened. 

Yennefer had yet to make anything work in the way she wanted. 

She kept her ring on and dedicated herself to growing her power.

\---

Jaskier breezed around the tavern like he was a long grass in the summer wind. Geralt is a little entranced. He did his best to ignore it, the fact the other man’s scent was of rain and wet earth and wildflowers and joy, unadulterated _joy_ , even as a witcher stared him down. Not a drop of fear. How long has he been on the road that he smelled of only the good things in life? How much longer will it be before that is changed?

Geralt did his best to try and force the man away. He didn’t engage in the endless conversation, he didn’t give in to the music, he didn't give in to the teasing. Hell, when Jaskier called him by that name, the one he’d hated as soon as it started, Geralt gave him a solid punch that against a normal person would have sent them running for the nearest guard.

Maybe it’s the bard’s eyes. The colour was piercing; familiar in a way Geralt could not place. He tried to make the bard leave, and when he didn’t, still not an ounce of fear in him, Geralt had to recognize maybe he wasn’t _really_ trying as hard as he could have. And perhaps worse than that, he didn’t want to.

No, no, he _really_ didn’t want to. 

Jaskier was barely more than a hazard on the road, another thing to distract him when Geralt didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to think about anything more than himself and his horse. And yet despite the danger he possessed to both himself and Geralt, the witcher was hard-pressed to actually _leave_ him behind.

Perhaps it was the scent of joy and wildflowers and wet earth, perhaps it was the eyes, perhaps it was the seed that buried itself deep in the carcass of whatever had died when Geralt’s Blue left that said maybe, just maybe, he was worth more than the monsters he killed along the way.

\---

Yenna … she lost time. Everything was just one attempt after another to regain what she lost and lose what she does not want. While it was not what she wanted to lose, time was nothing to an immortal mage like Yennefer. 

So without fanfare, while she attempted spells and studied works, and tried so, so hard to reach her goals, Yenna lost time.

\---

Geralt used many things he uses as a cue to remind him that visiting town every so often is a good idea. The amount of some rarer apothecary ingredients, the shoes on Roach’s feet, the heaviness of his coin purse, the amount of Jaskier’s floral perfume left in the lithe man’s scent between inn baths. The realization that Jaskier’s comfort had subconsciously changed Geralt’s standards for how long between visits to town was acceptable, was a belated one. 

He’d ridden off in the early morning light, leaving Jaskier some of the money from the latest hunt left on the side table in the room they had shared for the night. His stores were full, Roach was as happy as she ever seemed to be, and there were no more jobs in the area. He wanted some quiet for a time and that required leaving the bard behind. 

Jaskier had been singing or humming or strumming or mouthing the words to some folk song he’d picked up two towns back for the weeks. Geralt heard it’s words running around him in his dreams.

_I am a little boy just born just born now_

_Lookin' at me Má she smile now_

_Carried to the room with the fishes on the wall now_

_Wanna walk gotta go to the sea now_

_Lookin' at the boats and lookin' at the sky_

_I will learn to fish I will learn to fly_

_Not a better fisherman there will ever be_

_Paddy and his boat on the raging sea_

_Dye dee diddle dum da diddly boom boom da_

It wasn’t even a good song when sung in only one voice. It was of the sort that needed a chorus of hands clapping and feet stomping along. Geralt didn’t know much of music, he was confined to the monsters in the world, the terrors in the shadows or wild areas, but he knew when something was meant for choruses of voices in a hot, rowdy room instead of a single bard on an open road. 

No, no. Geralt needed to clear his head of the song ( _Dye dee diddle dum da diddly boom boom da_ ) and the wildflower perfume and the wet earth/rain smell that was just underneath it. 

He was a few hours down the road from the town, backtracking the way they’d come as a pair two days earlier when he subconsciously picked up on it. There was something missing and it wasn’t just a job to prep and plan for. He figured it was just his ears adjusting to birdsong rather than bardsong.

Without someone on foot to slow him down, Geralt made it back to the town previous in the early afternoon. Without the musician around to buffer the villagers and himself, in both directions, Geralt wasn’t surprised to find merchants were shorter with him, his portion of food at the tavern was smaller, and the stances of those who sat around him were tenser. He didn’t feel bad about not wanting to subject himself to the nameless village’s hospitality for a second time in a week. 

In the morning, Geralt caught the scent of rain on the wind. Roach wouldn't be particularly pleased with the development, he was sure, and so kept them at a steady pace to hopefully ride through it. By the time the rain came, Geralt and Roach were far past it, only getting the comforting scent of wet earth on the breeze. He reached the next town just before nightfall and considered his options.

As much as he enjoyed the scent of the far-off rain, something about it felt wrong. Geralt knew he and Roach could stand to camp for a few more days, and would likely encounter less grandstanding from the townspeople. Despite that, he was compelled to continue to find the Inn in the village and get himself a key for the night. 

The next morning, he found what he was missing subconsciously. Someone had picked a bouquet of some local wildflowers to display in the building’s main room. Even with the scent of fear and anger and just general body odours, those flowers smelled like happiness, comfort, _home_. 

\---

Yen ushered the handsome man and his unconscious companion up to the main rooms of the house. She directed them both to a place to lay the smaller, injured man, and then over the course of a few hours, got the full story out of the Witcher. He was quite a lovely man to look at, if rather slow on the uptake. When she was getting all of the information of the incident out of Geralt, not once did he mention that the man he brought to her for healing was an elf. 

In fact, he didn’t even seem to know. How he could not with the wild nature that seemed intent to hold the bard close? Yennefer never said Geralt was overly smart when it came to things right under his nose, just that he had lots of muscles and an attractive brood. 

Her brain stopped for a moment, a rare feat in and of itself when she removed his necklaces and found that both of them were masking spells. How Yen hadn’t noticed that was beyond her, she obviously just wasn’t thinking. Her brain stopped.

As soon as she had removed it though, Yennefer kicked into overdrive. 

Finally, the moment of her revenge was upon her.

Years of planning and thinking and scheming and … and…

Fuck he looked terrible. Fragile. 

Jaskier was his name and he was a bard by trade and he was in love with the Witcher and he was bound to both of them. 

His life was already pitiful enough. Plus, Yennefer hadn’t figured out how to remove their marks permanently yet. She couldn’t afford to just turn him into a bug and deal with the inevitable coloured scarring that had happened in her experimentation. The mage would have to actually live with the results of whatever she did. 

Yennefer was very _very_ close to regretting her decision when the bardling woke up. He was much nicer when viewed through the Witcher’s mind and memories. In life, he was fucking annoying. But then Jaskier ran out the door and Geralt ran back in and her choices were made for her.

And most annoying of all, she didn’t even get the Djinn.

\---

Geralt didn’t notice the bard coming and going more frequently, taking more bedfellows, trying to bribe roach, because he’d been spending more focus trying to forget the old old blue which stained his knuckles by bedding someone with purple eyes. He tried not to pay attention. It was none of his business. Not when he’d managed to link that purple to himself and had to invest in magic himself to hide it.

And sometimes that worked.

And then sometimes the bard caught his attention and made him realise how much he was missing.

On a seemingly normal drowner hunt, a nearby group of bandit’s decided to try and take advantage of Geralt’s lack of attention to attack Jaskier. They had been warned in town about the ruffians in the woods and Jaskier had laughed them off, pointing back towards Geralt with a lazy smile.

The witcher couldn’t get that complete confidence out of his mind as he caught the scent of wet earth and blood in the air. When he finished his sprint back to the campsite, Geralt found Jaskier actively fighting back. One had already been disposed of, and Jaskier was trying to balance the offensive attacks of the last two.

“Jaskier,” Geralt mumbled, heart wanting to call out but brain knowing the distraction would only be a bad idea. He came from the opposite side so as to not distract his bard’s fighting. He’d been hit at least twice, but the man lying on the ground was definitely bleeding out and the two still in the attack were bleeding also.

One of the bandits turned at the sound of his approach and Geralt watched as his bard - harmless, noisy, happy bard - dove in to slash the man's thigh, deliberately cutting the artery. Geralt took that opportunity to dispatch the last attacker. 

“Oh, thank the heavens, Geralt! If I had to handle this entirely on my own it certainly would have turned out worse.” Jaskier bent down to wipe blood off his dagger on one of the still _hot_ corpses. “I certainly am not good enough with this yet, though what a practice run. Distasteful, but the best way to test one’s skills I suppose. And these fools, thinking I would be easy prey. Ha! Showed them! Thank you, for that, by the way. ”

Geralt’s head spun. He tried to rewind the bard’s babbling to process it one statement at a time. “You’re hurt.” _It’s already worse than it should have been._ “And when did you learn to fight?” _You’re the bard._ I’m _the fighter. I should have protected you._ “Daggers are better in one on one combat.” _and you could have died!_

Jaskier’s face quirked almost unnoticeably. He’d smelled of fear until Geralt arrived, but all of a sudden it was overtaken by equal measures of anger and joy. How the hell that worked, Geralt had no idea. That was over his head, too complex to comprehend because he was an emotionless witcher. 

He was less than a person.

He was a monster. 

And he needed to check his bard for those injuries he knew the man had. 

“Well, I’ll have you know Geralt, that I do know how to do things without your help sometimes.” Jaskier bristled and walked to the far side of the camp. “And I learned recently, during one of those trips you took leaving me in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night.”

Not his business. Right. 

Geralt followed slowly, movements unnaturally stiff. “Your arm. And … ribs?”

Even without the intonation, a normal man would need to hear the question, the permissions being asked, Jaskier heard it. “Yeah, fucker got me before I even realized what was happening.”

Geralt nodded for lack of anything else to do. 

Jaskier sighed and dropped to the ground. He winced as he tried to pull off his shirt, only to find that he couldn’t bear to lift his arm high enough to make it work. “Well, at least we know it isn’t poisoned.” Jaskier looked back to Geralt, a small sudden fear in his eyes. “There’s no poison, right? You go out killing the actual monsters which are poisonous and come back home perfectly fine yet I get poisoned by some two-bit knife jockeys? Where’s the panache in that?”

Geralt tensed and checked the air. He hadn’t even considered that. After a moment he relaxed, if only slightly. “No poison.” 

“Oh, good, okay.” He sighed, weakly, the pain seeming to catch up more forcefully now. “Glad to hear it.”

Geralt gathered some supplies from the bags near Jaskier and then came to sit beside the man. Jaskier watched him with a caged, tired expression, but after a few moments, nodded slightly and held his arm out to the Witcher.

Carefully, Geralt checked the wound. It wouldn’t need more than a bandage and cleaning out. The rib one smelled stronger of blood, and a red gash was angrily looking out from the ruined side of the bard’s chemise. Getting Jaskier’s chemise off him without aggravating the wounds was a bit of a feat, but Geralt was more concerned with how quiet it had gotten.

When he thought back to it, the first time Geralt had seen the man's bare skin, it almost seemed like Jaskier was daring him to say anything about it. He couldn't, could he? Geralt was a less-than who'd lost his own marks when Destiny decided he wasn't good enough. Commenting on another was beyond him. Jaskier had so much heart to give, so much love in his songs though, that it felt wrong that Destiny found the bard wanting as well. Perhaps Geralt's words on it would provide comfort, that Destiny wasn't worth a damn anyway, but when had Geralt ever had the words to say anything?

So now, with unfortunately blank skin and unnaturally blank faces, they interacted in silence.

And it was not a comfortable silence filled with the man’s internal composing. It was a strained thing, bad enough that even he felt the need to fill it. “Your … balance was … good.” 

Jaskier’s balance really was good. And his speed. Though his grip had been a little weak and unsure, it looked like. That was something that could only come with practice.

“Oh, come now, Geralt. You know you don’t need to force yourself for me. You just sit there and grunt and “hm” at me occasionally, and I’ll be the one to carry the conversation.” Jaskier said though he couldn’t hide how tired and still upset he sounded. Considering that neither of them had said anything before it, that was an obvious dismissal if Geralt had ever heard one.

Right.

Not his business.

Geralt tried not to let his the bard’s silence bother him as he patched up the man’s wounds. Tried not to think of cornflower blue and electric violet.

Not.

His.

Business.

\---

Yenna found herself liking the cursed little bardling. He spit fire and venom right back to her whenever they met, completely uncaring of how she could squash him like a bug. Sure, she could read the fear that coated the top layer of his mind, but Jaskier, in the end, was never that scared. And the more times they ran into each other, the fear on the top layer was smaller and smaller. 

It was annoying. But admirable. 

Jaskier was worming his way into her life in other ways too. His songs seemed to be inevitable like the goddamn sun. Half the bards on the continent seemed to be singing them, at least one a set, and every small town, village, or hovel she passed through had someone humming along to the melody of _Toss a Coin_ or _Fires in Hagge_ or _The Creature in the Tall Grass_ . People who’d just had their hearts broken would sing _One Night Is Not Enough_ or _Honeybee_ and people freshly in love would sing proudly the chorus to _Sunlight and Stars_ , their hearts worn proudly on their sleeves. 

Yenna found herself coming to like the bard most because she was losing interest in fucking his soulmate. A twisted sort of empathy filled her heart at how selfless Jaskier _chose_ to be. It was so much easier to be bitter and mean, but he never let it progress beyond their insults at greeting one another.

Jaskier was playing, testing out a new composition, with his eyes closed in concentration.

_“All this feels strange and untrue_

_And I won't waste a minute without you_

_My bones ache, my skin feels cold_

_And I'm getting so tired and so old_

_The anger swells in my guts_

_And I won't feel these slices and cuts_

_I want so much to open your eyes_

_'Cause I need you to look into mine”_

The mage watched as Jaskier’s hands plucked quiet chords out in accompaniment, occasionally wincing and changing his mind. He didn’t know he had an audience, and his thoughts were completely unguarded because of that. Not that Yennefer needed to read them to know he was singing about Geralt. Jaskier’s face contorted into one of frustration, but he, ironically, did not open his eyes.

_“Tell me that you'll open your eyes_

_Tell me that you'll open your eyes”_

Yennefer idly carded through the bard’s mind as he repeated the lines twice more. The chords got sloppy and Jaskier stopped with a sigh, finally looking up and around the room. When he noticed Yen, he yelped.

“How long have you been sitting there! Yennefer, you scoundrel” Jaskier sounded positively affronted. 

She smiled, entertained by his reactions as always. Yenna decided to ignore the question. “You could always tell him, you know. We are both quite aware Geralt has trouble connecting the dots around emotions.”

Jaskier scowled again. “We are both quite aware I cannot do that, Miss Mage.”

_Besides, you have his whole heart anyways._

Of all the people who’s thoughts she listened to, purposefully or not, Jaskier was exceptionally loud in her head. 

_No, no. Shush. Geralt is allowed to make his own choices and I’ve got no place trying to make them for him._

And of course the bard would treat it like that. Yenna sighed. It was pitiful but as she listened to the rest of his thoughts, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. She was getting tired of her farce of a relationship with Geralt anyways. Something akin to guilt was brewing there.

_Yenna is a perfectly lovely, terrifying immortal mage and if she is his choice I cannot fault either of them. Besides, at least one of us deserves a good lay right now._

“Oh, bardling,” Yenna started with a snicker. “He is indeed a _very_ good lay.”

Jaskier yelped again. “Stop reading my thoughts!”

“Stop thinking them so loudly!” Yennefer retorted, knowing her eyes were blazing as she watched him.

Perhaps a little banter would cheer them both up. She cursed that the bard had made himself important enough that she cared to cheer him up. And yet. 

"Besides, you _know_ you're just dying to find out how good a lay he is yourself."

\---

Geralt pushed open the door to the manor house without much care. 

_“Few escape your magic arrow_

_I saw you reel them in for miles,_

_Each captivated crooked smile”_

The soft voice of Jaskier crooned from somewhere further within. Geralt used the quiet tones to lead him around. Geralt never bothered to remember the layout of these manor houses unless he figured he would be spending a lot of time in them, it was just one rich noble’s playground after another. 

_“And you know you can heal them all_

_Your double diamond disposition_

_Refractions of your center prism_

_Your magic arrow flies precision,”_

The song was new, but Geralt had heard versions of it before. It was about Yennefer, though neither of them discussed it, and the tone was mournful for some reason. He wasn’t sure how their relationship worked, but at least Yen and Jaskier had stopped actively fighting one another. It made his run-ins with the mage more pleasant. 

Geralt came upon an ornate door he assumed led to some sitting room and paused. He perhaps had a hard time making it known vocally, but really did quite enjoy Jaskier’s songs. The years had only made him better and better but the man had never been _bad._ Jaskier was talented even from the get-go. 

_“And I was fine till I saw the pale horse ride_

_And open up it’s gape across the ocean floor”_

For all that he enjoyed the low and slow, Geralt found himself missing the normal high energy works which danced on Jaskier’s lute. If he interrupted now, would Jaskier play something happier later?

_“You were fine till you saw the white rider take_

_And take some more”_

Well, in any case, Geralt needed to speak to the lord of the house. And If the man wasn’t with his bard, then his bard would surely know the way, right? 

Too much thinking. Too much delay.

“Jaskier,” Geralt started as he pushed through the door.

_“Our mother's milk double faro_

_A few escape your magic a-”_

“Geralt! Welcome back!” Jaskier cut his playing off with a grin and a greeting. 

The witcher nodded in return. Somehow, the air seemed a little easier to breathe once he was back. He took in the room, indeed some sort of sitting area, but was surprised to find it empty other than the bard. Had the man been playing for himself? Testing out new lyrics? “Where is the lord?”

“Oh, that jerk.” Jaskier’s soft face was pulled into a strong scowl. “He happened to insult the capabilities of monster hunters and witchers, and then did not take nicely to my singing of the horrors which attacked Hagge when they turned your kinsmen away.” Jaskier carefully set down his lute so he could mime wringing a neck before turning on Geralt with his eyes aflame. “And then he had the audacity to - To -”

Jaskier cut himself off again with a wordless, frustrated noise. 

Geralt quirked an eyebrow, knowing if it was important enough, Jaskier would tell him once he was calmer. Otherwise, he would be safe to assume it was just some mindless critique of song or poetry or Jaskier’s taste in clothing. 

The bard tried to calm himself, trying to monitor his breathing. Geralt only watched with blank-faced curiosity. After a few minutes, Jaskier stopped and clutched at the two necklaces Geralt had literally never seen him without. 

“It doesn’t matter. He was just being an ass. Can we hurry up and leave this terrible fucking place?”

Geralt smiled internally at that, maybe even a little externally too. This place really was terrible. “As soon as we get paid.”

\---

Yenna had a bad sense of time. It wasn’t all that surprising, considering the life she lived, and the fact all her … maybe-friends were also as long-lived as herself. When she got the news of the events in Cintra, Yenna’s first thought was of the bard. 

Of course Jaskier wouldn’t learn what had happened for weeks, if not months. He and Geralt were across the continent in Kaedwen. Yenna hadn’t seen either of them in nearly half a year. It was all Geralt’s fault naturally, he’d been an ass and caused a fight (again) and she’d decided to get back at him by purposefully disappearing. It’d make it easier to break it off for real in the future.

Was she ready to see him again? Or did she want to hang her hopes on Geralt having been an ass to Jaskier too and them having split up for the time?

Did it matter? Jaskier needed to know.

Yennefer felt for their bond. Cursed as it was, something she wanted to remove so badly, even if she hadn’t seen it in years, it was at least useful in finding the bard. It took only a few moments despite the many leagues between them and then Yennefer was opening a portal and stepping through.

“-OLY SHIT!” “WHAT’S THAT!”

“Now, now,” Jaskier’s voice filled her ears and something settled into place. “Nothing to worry about.”

Yenna inspected her surroundings. Of course the one time she hadn’t bothered to check where she’d be ending up was the one time she portaled into a busy room of low brow nobodies. Jaskier sat at one end, lute in hand and confused look on his face. Across the room, in the darkest, least inviting seat was Geralt, whom she let her eyes purposefully gloss over. 

“I am quite serious,” Jaskier tried again to regain the room’s attention, setting his lute down and standing. “There is nothing to fear at this moment. The mage is a dear friend of mine.”

She nodded to the bard and then towards what she assumed to be the exit, not waiting to see if he (or Geralt) were planning on following. The sight outside was a quaint town still filled with the chilly air from the morning, being so far north that winter seemed to start every night rather than wait for fall to end. Yennefer's sudden appearance from the building garnered a few glances from people passing or working nearby.

A moment later the door opened again and Jaskier tumbled out of it, looking all sorts of confused. “It’s not that I don’t love when you drop in and ruin my performances, but what’s going on? I refuse to ferry messages between you Geralt, especially when you’re right here. Do you want me to go back and get him? Perfect time for you two to kiss and make up, I think I’m getting left behind in this town anyways.” His thoughts soured and that annoyed her.

“No, shush.” Yenna cut him off icily before remembering why she was here. “I have news.”

“News?” Jaskier’s confusion grew and she could read it in the top layer of his mind. At least he wasn’t thinking himself worthless again.

“Of Cintra.” 

The bard laughed. “Oh? Has the little menace finally shown that she takes after Uncle Jaskier more than her parents? If Calanthe has finally seen the light, you know I’d drop the wandering bard act in a heartbeat to make sure Cirilla was taught music properly.”

Yen’s heart cracked, seeing that all he wanted to be something good for the child surprise. When had it been made whole enough to do that in the first place? “No, Jask. Pavetta and Duny… The trip to Skellige…” She sighed and collected herself, glad it was only Jaskier in front of her and not anyone else. “The boat was hit with a storm and Pavetta and Duny didn’t make it.”

Jaskier stopped. Completely. Yennefer carded through his mind for any clues on what she should do next. She didn’t know how to handle emotions, there was no one she would get this distraught over, so what the hell was she supposed to do?

Yenna watched as Jaskier’s mind tried to come up with scenario after scenario and he sunk lower and lower until the man was on his knees picturing the princess alone at a gravesite. She hesitated, still so unsure. “Do you… wish to see her?”

“No, no,” Jaskier said before breaking into a sob. “Calanthe would not … do nice things to me and I couldn’t do that to Ciri.” His voice broke and he collapsed a little further. “Not again.”

The people walking past were stopping and staring, some looking like they were moments away from coming over to help. “Are you sure you don’t want to be taken to Cintra?”

Jaskier tried to pull himself together and stand. “Don’t, no. It-” the bard faltered and looked back at the door, thinking of Geralt. “Thank you. But no. If, if it wouldn’t be too much -”

“Oxenfurt?” Yen asked before he could finish. 

“Yeah, I, I need -”

Home. A sense of home. And if Geralt was planning on leaving behind here already, why not leave on his own terms? Yenna nodded. If that would help her bard, she’d do it. And then she’d come back and give that man a piece of her mind for being such an emotional ass, not only to herself but to Jaskier too. They both deserved better. She’d take him home.

Soulmates are not perfect. 

“Are you going to go tell him?” 

Being bound is terror.

“No, he… He doesn’t like to think about the child surprise.” 

But perhaps some good did come out of it.

“Then to Oxenfurt we go.”

The bard really wasn’t all that bad. 

\---

For someone who claimed that he couldn’t feel anything, Geralt sure felt like shit. It was easier not to think about it, to push it down and play into the public idea of how Witchers work. But Jaskier made him look it in the face more often than he looked at his own reflection. 

In truth, the bard never forced him to confront it, never asked him to do anything, but his mere presence was more than enough to keep Geralt thinking about it. He was thinking too much these days. Geralt’s thoughts were like a dog, endlessly chasing its own tail, never getting anywhere and never doing anything worthwhile.

Geralt was just a less-than, a witcher, a monster, trying to get the cornflower blue that had haunted him for years out of his mind all the while knowing he’d forced violet bindings on himself too. And now he was stuck at an event not because he was waiting for a job description or because a mage he called “friend” was nearby, but instead because his bard had spent the last two hours talking with his brother who was visiting the Redanian court.

“No, no! You have to tell me the real story!” A man with the same hair, a similar scent, the exact same lean build, and a similarly shaped face, though at least half of it was covered by a beard, clapped the bard on the shoulder and laughed. “We both know how much you like to exaggerate. Now, what really happened?”

“I promise the story in the song is the story you’re going to hear.” Jaskier shook his head, grinning. 

The other man laughed again and ruffled Jaskier’s hair. “But you don’t deny that it’s not what really happened, Jules?”

Jules? Geralt sighed, and rolled his eyes, tuning them out for a moment. 

Geralt was just standing there, wishing he didn’t need to think about feelings while watching the man who _made_ him feel things talk with family and it was a lot already. But it got worse. Not-Jaskier was covered in blue. Ash blue, sky blue, steel grey-blue, bright cornflower blue. And Not-Jaskier-Jr, who was standing very quietly nearby, had a similar splash of many, many colours across him, though there was some green in the mix also. Family likely made up most of them, and it felt strange to see Jaskier, completely devoid of soulmates in that traditional sense, interacting like he wasn’t an outcast because of it.

“C’mon Mik, it really isn’t something for children to hear.” Jaskier tried again, still so fucking happy.

How long had he been away from home? Geralt supposed that he really didn’t know. Had the bard ever told him? If he had, would Geralt have listened?

Not-Jaskier pulled Not-Jaskier-Jr closer and gestured between the two. “My Albrecht is older than you were when you left home!”

Jr smiled bashfully and the sour tang of embarrassment wafted over to Geralt. He grunted to himself and considered moving away. If he wasn’t going to get that pure, intoxicating happiness then there was no point in being close enough that even a non-witcher would be considered eavesdropping. 

“Well, Albrecht, my good man. How old are you?” Jaskier clapped Jr on the shoulder. The family resemblance was so strong Jaskier _could_ have been the man’s father to any passers-by. If only Jaskier and Jr didn't look more like brothers themselves. Fuck, whatever genes the Pankratz family had for staying youthful were _strong_.

Jr blushed visibly and the embarrassment kicked up again. “19, ser.”

“Ser?” Jaskier laughed heartily and slapped his brother on the chest. “You’ve been teaching this boy too many manners!”

“Well, you certainly had no hand in it!” Not-Jaskier’s smile stifled some. “You could come back and visit more often, you know.”

“Ah, Mik... “ Jaskier broke off. “I - Well - it’s hard. You know how Father is. I’m surprised to even still be counted as a Pankratz. Haven’t used that name in … years. Many, many years.”

Geralt heard the words but didn’t really put them together. All he knew was that the joy of seeing his family was gone and that meant the only reason Geralt was letting this happen was also gone. He pushed through the icky webs of thought and inaction he’d made in his own mind to walk up and hopefully retrive his bard. 

“You strange man, you know you’ll always be wel- oh, uh, welcome, White Wolf. Come back to collect my brother?” Not-Jaskier interrupted his reassurances with a greeting and a joke.

Geralt nodded in return, too annoyed to do anything else. Even if it was true.

“Geralt! Meet my Nephew, Albrecht Pankratz.” Jaskier nudged his shoulder before reaching out a hand to the boy. 

Jr, for all that it was worth, didn’t smell of fear as he reached a hand out towards the witcher. None of them did. Was it another family trait that they all had the self-preservation of a walnut? Probably. 

Geralt shook the offered hand firmly, perhaps a slight bit impressed when the boy didn’t baulk or break at the sudden grip. Over the handshake, Jaskier and his brother seemed to have some sort of silent conversation. As both Geralt and the boy let go, Jaskier nudged his shoulder again, an unspoken thanks. 

“Well, we should probably head out,” Jaskier said neutrally, not bothering to inject his usual grandiosity. “It was nice to see you again, Mikael, Albrecht. Tell everyone hello for me, will you?”

Not-Jaskier frowned a little. “Are you sure you cannot stay longer? A few hours is nothing to 20 years of only getting letters from my babiest brother.”

Jaskier laughed, his hand fluttering onto Geralt’s shoulder. The touch made the witcher’s death-slow heart speed up and he restrained himself from leaning into it.

“We’ve a job to do, sorry Mik. If you can convince Father to not have my hide for leaving like I did, perhaps I’ll come back for the yule this year.” Jaskier let go of Geralt to hug his brother before quickly returning to the witcher’s side. “Though It may be Anna you’d have to talk down more than anyone.”

“Anna will have your head for sure, and we both know there’s nothing I can do about that.” 

They laughed together, even Jr chuckling a little.

Jaskier hugged them both once more and then quickly strode away before he could be sucked back in. The look of disappointment on his family’s face did not slow his steps at all. 

An unpleasant feeling grew in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He didn’t like feeling it, and perhaps he didn’t know the name of it, but Jaskier seemed to make him feel it a lot. “You could have stayed.”

Jaskier gasped, sounding fake-annoyed. “Good Ser Witcher, you really think I can leave you alone? I could _not_ , you need my company more than anyone is willing to admit.”

The reassurance felt hollow. 

One day, Jaskier would want to settle down. And where would Geralt be left then?

Right. 

Not his business.

\---

Yenna removed her ring and then threw it across the room. She hadn’t noticed. How had she not noticed? Had she really closed her eyes so completely?

When?

How?

Why?

Why when he had a perfectly good bard, who’d follow him to the ends of the world, why?

Why _her?_

Yennefer wanted to rip his fucking head off. Why hadn’t she noticed when they were still intimate? 

Well, that was easy to answer. Either it was one-way, or he’d invested in a charm, just like herself and Jaskier. What a fucking cop-out. Yennefer was so … so …

…

Yennefer would need to invest in a new dressing table. And a new bed. And some other furniture as well. The current set was far too burned out to be used. 

Geralt would need to grovel to get her forgiveness. He’d need to beg. And he still wouldn't get it, not until he had begged forgiveness from Jaskier as well. They had both put up with his shit for far too long.

Her bard, for Jaskier was _her_ bard now, whether the man knew it or not, her bard deserved better. Yenna would never love him as anything other than a sibling, but she could still love him. 

And she would. 

And she would make sure Geralt knew he would _not_ be forgiven for his transgressions easily. 

\---

Geralt did not want to bring Jaskier along on this. Over the years he’d come to understand that he himself was his happiest with the bard around, and he hoped that Jaskier knew that, but this was not one that he wanted a squishy human to be along for. Dragons were dangerous. The mountain top would be dangerous. 

And Yen would be around. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but she was more hostile than expected. It was uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t felt in her company since he first realized his Djinn wish had bound her.

With Yen around, Jaskier was different. He had been different for a while, more reserved, but he still laughed the same laugh that made Geralt’s heart shudder. With Yen, he seemed more like himself.

He didn’t want to take Jaskier along but he hadn’t tried to make the man leave. Geralt just kept hoping if he kept the other man around, maybe things would go back to normal. He missed normal. He certainly didn’t deserve it, but he _missed_ it. And so bringing Jaskier along and not saying anything about Yen seemed like the best option. 

He should have said something though, used his words to discuss the situation, ask what was wrong, ask if he could make it better.

By all the gods, Geralt wanted to make it better.

And then he made it worse.

\---

Yennefer could have killed Geralt where he stood. First, he disrespected her on the way up that mountain, then disrespected the bard, dismissing the man’s woes because the witcher was made too uncomfortable talking about emotions and then came the mountaintop.

Geralt had bound her with the Djinn. He’d _wished_ they’d be bound. It made her uncomfortable still to know she was bound to the bard, but she could, would, and had killed for the annoying elf’s safety before. Jaskier had earned her friendship through years of mutual respect. Geralt had only lost it the more time had passed. 

Oh, she should have done him in right then and there. But no. In her anger, Yennefer had accidentally let slip that the witcher wasn’t the only man she was bound to, that Jaskier was far more deserving of her (platonic) affections and that set him off worse. In his mind, Yennefer could read his fears of inadequacy, his fears of abandonment, his fear that somehow Yenna would turn his one friend against him. 

Ha, if only. 

Jaskier’s friendship, his affection, his binding was the only reason Geralt was still alive. Despite both of their anger, she knew the man would never forgive her for striking the witcher down. Destiny would likely have something to say about it as well. 

Instead, she waited for Jaskier to need her, allowed him to work out some of his emotions as he walked, and then she’d take her bard home. 

Geralt had lost any claim. 

Oh, how badly she wanted to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs mentioned in order:  
> \- Raging Sea by the Elders  
> \- Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol (as well as the titles One Night Is Not Enough by Snow Patrol and Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe bc they were runners up for that section's song)  
> \- Magic Arrow by Timber Timbre
> 
> ok so Timeline notes: I could listen to canon if I cared to find this information, but I don't, so I'm not going to. All three of them are bad at timekeeping, though Yennefer is the best at it and Will be the one to bother everyone else about losing track of the years.  
> \- Geralt starts on the path a few years before Yennefer is born.  
> \- Yennefer becomes a mage a few years after Jaskier is born.  
> \- Jaskier leaves home for Oxenfurt around the same time as the incident at Blaviken, and spends more time than he thinks wandering around both before and after his time at the University.  
> \- At the initial meeting in Posada, Geralt is mid 80s, Jaskier is late 20s, and Yennefer (though she isn't there) is early 50s  
> \- The meeting up with Yennefer at the Djinn incident is approx 12 years after Jaskier and Geralt's initial meeting (and 2 years after the Banquet)  
> \- Pavetta dies sometime around 5 years after Yen and Jaskier have met  
> \- The dragon hunt is still 22 years after their first meeting in Posada, so G: mid 100s ( i want to say 105 bc its a fun number); Y: early/mid 70s; J: late 40s/early 50s
> 
> extras just for fun:  
> \- Jaskier is only able to accurately tell how many years its been when he's berating Geralt for being emotionally distant (internally or externally), the rest of the time it's all a jumble to him.  
> \- Yennefer likes to make age jokes to see if Geralt will pick up on Jaskier's elven nature, which Jask does _not_ find as funny.  
> \- Geralt DOES pick horses with a little monster in their blood because they're often more intelligent, hardier, and he doesn't mind putting in the extra work to build a bond and properly train them. He thinks it's funny that nobody else thinks he'd willingly pick a horse like that. 
> 
> Okay that's all. I hope that explains everyone's emotional state as we get to the mountaintop of ep 6, as well as some world building bc it's fairly different than the original. Jaskier is just heartbroken , Yenna is mad at Geralt for breaking said heart (bc thats easier than recognizing some of Jask's upset is both her and the bard's own fault), and Geralt is mad at himself, Yen, Jaskier, and destiny altogether. Anyways, I hope you liked it! It was actually really fun to write and that's why its so long skfjkj.  
> See you next time, kiss!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://floralb0t.tumblr.com/?)


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's path once he's left Geralt's. We Officially go off the rails here. Also I Will put horses Everywhere because they are lovely creatures do not ask me about logistics to that

At first, he couldn’t breathe. And then it kicked in, the manta he’d repeated since his youth.  _ In. Out. In. Out. _ And then he could breathe again, but the breathing hurt. Jaskier’s mouth turned on before his brain and he said … something. He said something, right?

_ If I could I would turn  _

_ Back into dust _

_ You would look so good to me  _

_ I can almost taste it _

His heart was numb and sore and his mouth was quiet but his brain needed something to do and so it composed. He kept breathing, kept walking, and let his mind do as it pleased until he was far enough away to break down sobbing.

_ One minute I’m a king  _

_ The next minute I’m nothing _

_ I just wanted to feel alright _

_ But it’s not that simple _

Jaskier’s inner voice caught on that last line, but he ignored it, walking down the mountain and refusing to look over his shoulder. Or at the Sky. Or at the trees. Anywhere other than the road ahead or his feet, really. If he looked elsewhere he might get distracted from the intense anger and sorrow and pure  _ heartbreak _ which coursed through his veins.

_ In the palm of my hand _

_ An empire summoned _

_ As if it was born _

_ All substance crumbled _

If he did, he might pause, toss a glimpse over his shoulder and see if G -  _ he _ , was following. He might break down and cry right there in the road. Or possibly worst of all, he might turn around and walk back up the mountain. Plead for forgiveness for imagined crimes. Pretend that his soul wasn’t trying to tear itself in two.

Heartbreak caused deaths, sometimes, right? If someone opened him up, would his heart be damaged? If someone opened up one of his siblings, or Yenna even, would they see a heart stained cornflower blue? 

Jaskier’s inner composure was interrupted by a low keen in the back of his throat, a sadness waiting to explode. He tried to contain it, but he was sure that it was audible. If  _ he _ cared to hear it, he probably would.

_ It was a vain attempt _

_ At the meaning of life _

_ I have better ways _

_ Of spending my time _

He stopped and gripped his arms tight. The tears that threatened earlier overflowed now as Jaskier realized how much of himself he’d bared to his witcher and how much it had been thrown away. He turned that keening noise into a warbling continuation of his inner composition. If Geralt was listening, he’d hear everything.

_ “Like climb the mountain _

_ Like sail the sea _

_ Like build my house up _

_ Or start my family _

_ It's time to get out _

_ It's time to make a living _

_ I reach the summit _

_ But I come tumblin' back down” _

Jaskier’s breath heaved. He might have let out a saddened gasp, a sob too early. Or he might have leaned slightly from side to side, wondering when the bad luck he carried would come sprinting from the woods and eat him whole if only to end his suffering. Jaskier pressed a hard palm-heel against his eyes and forced himself to keep walking.

He was nearly all the way back to camp when a slender hand wormed its way around his side and he jumped, too weary to do anything else. His song was over, but it ran circles around his mind.

“Oh, hush, you baby. It’s just me.” Yennefer’s voice, quiet but strong, whispered into his ear. “Breathe, Bard-mine.”

And so he did, but deep inside Jaskier choked on his own sorrow. Had she heard? Did she see?

_ If life could give me one blessing… _

Jaskier placed one foot firmly in front of the other. Yennefer’s steady hand stayed wrapped around his waist and he kept watching only the road. They made it the rest of the way back to the camp before either of them said anything.

“Yen,” he started, but trailed off, unsure. “Yenna, what now?”

Twenty years. One blessing.

She seemed to understand. “We leave. There isn’t much else to do, Jask.”

_ Jask _ . One of the larger shards of Jaskier’s heart shattered. He might have sobbed, but his ears were ringing too much for him to tell. She only used nicknames when something was truly wrong, like the last time he almost died. 

“I would love to see how much magic it would take to explode every mountain from here to the Valley of Flowers,” Yen said dryly, in her blunt, stoneish way. “But I think for tonight, we would be better off to get wine-drunk and air our woes. And perhaps sing a low song for our sorrows.”

Jaskier nodded when the sounds formed understandable words in his brain. Together they both got to packing up the small things he’d left behind. He’d needed to stop tying his bag closed when he noticed Roach watching them with her bright eyes. If he hadn’t sobbed before, he certainly did now. “Oh, sweet girl.”

Roach walked forward, just close enough to bump her head into his shoulder, much more gently than he was expecting. She really was the most intelligent of the bunch. 

A wet laugh bubbled out of Jaskier’s throat as he petted the horse. “Take care of him. And demand as many treats as you can. It’ll serve him right.” He paused to hug her neck tightly. “If I ever see him again, it’ll be too soon,” He murmured as he pulled back, “but I’ll miss you, sweet girl.”

Roach headbutted him again and neighed, quietly, restrained. If Jaskier had ever doubted her ability as a listener, this moment would set him straight. The bard gave her one more smile and then turned as he tried to wipe all the wetness off his face. 

Across the remains of the campsite, Yen was waiting. Jaskier, feeling too lost to do anything otherwise, marched towards her like it was his own grave. She slipped her delicate hand back around his waist and opened a portal with the other hand. Together, they walked off the mountain and to somewhere else entirely.

_ I get low, low, low, low, low, low,  _

_ On my own _

_ I get low, low, low, low, low, low,  _

_ On my own _

\---

“So, did you know  _ he’d _ done something?” Jaskier was several drink’s deep into her couch, several days out and had finally stopped crying while sober long enough to think about what he wanted to do next. And at that moment, it was “get drunk, one more time”, but in the morning he’d leave. Jaskier needed time to grieve on his own and figured Yen did too. “Any inkling before we had it all laid bare? He’s thicker than a wall and more taciturn than one to boot, Melitite knows he wouldn’t have said anything himself.”

Yennefer was draped over the large table which sat not far away, drinking straight from a bottle of wine. “I did. The bastard bound me.”

“What?” Jaskier pulled himself out of the plushness to face her fully. “I hope that’s not just a euphemism, Yenna. You know I’d rather die than hear about that.”

“I mean,” the witch sprang out of her seat and stood in front of the bard, eyes ablaze, before slowly pulling a small ring off her finger. “He  _ bound  _ me.”

Yennefer’s face exploded with amber-gold, running across one of her eyes, covering the visible sections of her shoulders and collarbones, and slinking across her wrists and hands from under her wide sleeves. It was like looking in a twisted mirror.

“How?” Jaskier’s voice was small. “Oh, right. The Genie.”

“You know that it was a Djinn.”

“I do, but I would like to pretend I have some sort of power over it and so minimizing the damn thing is the best I have.” He said with a frown. “Not all of us have powerful spells and the ability to kill with just a look.”

Neither of them said anything more and just looked at her skin. 

His own blue was missing, and he knew exactly why. Jaskier pulled off his binding charm if only to re-introduce his own blue to Yen’s frame. Seeing his colours on someone again after so long, a decade a far off portion of his mind supplied, was strange. He felt like a fish out of water or a peeping tom.

The reassurance that Geralt hadn’t somehow  _ unbound _ them brought him some modicum of comfort though. He watched as Yenna idly inspected her hands and arms, taking in the blue. If she was any less nonchalant about it, acting as if she truly didn’t care either way, Jaskier knew he’d be losing his mind. Even as it was, the idea of having to justify the actions that lead to those marks would have killed him on the spot. After a moment she seemed to have her fill and went back to just drinking and staring out across the room.

Jaskier carefully returned his necklace charm back to its rightful place and felt like he could breathe again.  _ In. Out. _

Yen took a long sip of her bottle before giving it a slight shake to check how much was left and levelling a neutral look over the rim at him. From the years they’d spent crossing paths, Jaskier knew where to look for any fondness on her face and found it in the softness of her eyes, the shape of her mouth, the way she let a few stray hairs linger in front of her face instead of quickly brushing them away.

“So, dear bard, I’ve always been curious. What happened across our knuckles?” She carefully turned away as she asked it, even though they both knew Yennefer could barely stop intruding on his privacy of mind when she really tried.

Jaskier looked away too and found pretending that they were both normal was almost enough. He took another sip of his drink, from a cup instead of a bottle. “A school, long enough ago to have been attended by someone else entirely. A past long, long gone.”

She hummed at that but did not say anything else. They both sipped in silence.

“Yenna,” Jaskier started when he felt the quiet had gone on long enough. “What about you. Where’d it all go?”

“It?” 

“I was only a toddler but I’ve heard stories. We used to be covered in it.” Jaskier said  _ we _ because Yennefer had done the same and even if he couldn’t look at either of their scars made pure colour on one another, it felt nice to share something. “Where’d it go?”

“I simply had it moved.” Yenna answered. “Cut us open and you’d find all the evidence you need.”

Moved. Huh. he wished he could do the same. Jaskier sighed and downed the last of his wine. He looked over just in time to watch the sorceress do the same. Both of them went back to staring at the ground or their hands or their clothes or the ceiling or anything inanimate and stayed that way for a long while.

Jaskier’s thoughts felt like a dog chasing its own tail in his head. It always started with “I can’t believe I let myself be treated like a less-than for so long” and it always moved on to “I can’t believe I never had the courage to tell him” followed by “He’s an idiot, through and through,” “Maybe if he realized I wasn’t going to leave him he’d have willingly opened up more,” “I did leave him. Why did I do that? Why did I walk away?” and then finally “If he’s not willing to change after this then I shall keep leaving”. 

He looked into his cup, twisting it slightly to see how the low light in the room reflected off the barely-there remains of his wine. If things couldn’t get better between them, then it was time to simply move on. Even if it broke his heart.

“You seem to have made up your mind, Jask.” Yenna called, breaking the silence. “Another glass before you go?”

Jaskier’s head lolled from one side to the other. He was more tired than he thought, or at least more tipsy. “Just one, I think.”

“And where shall I dispose of you, little  _ veikr _ -mine, when this “one glass” turns into another five?” Yenna rose slowly, leaving her bottle behind but picking up another on her way to where Jaskier had been sitting for a while now. “You know it’s much less work to drink from the source.”

“Of course, dear mighty sorceress, but I have to lord something over you and tonight it’ll be my ref-refinement.” Jaskier stumbled on the word but gave her his most cocksure smile anyways. “Oxenfurt, I should think. Dump me on one of the quadrangles if you must, I’m sure one of the ghastly department heads will prepare me a room once they find their prodigal barker returned home.”

She laughed. It was probably the closest either of them had gotten to a real one all day. “Of course only a bard could call himself refined before talking about sleeping in a field.”

Jaskier waited for her to finish filling his cup before raising it in mock cheers. “Only a bard.”

\---

The lecture halls were wide and full. He quickly regained the skill to navigate them, needing only a few days of practice. 

Jaskier passed in between hoards of students and professors, slipped through gaggles of guests and speakers, and ran in the gaps between the crowds. He’d always enjoyed the bustling streets of the city and how they allowed him an opportunity to watch people. His students during the guest lectures paid attention with unblinking eyes. How else should one take in the Great White Wolf’s bard when that was basically the most star-studded position on the continent right now?

It was almost entirely unwanted attention, the longer it went on. Jaskier wanted to be just Jaskier again. Not Geralt’s bard, not Lettenhove’s youngest Lord, hell, not even exemplar alumni of Oxenfurt’s Liberal Arts College. What he wanted to do was to go back to that period of time between leaving “Julian” behind and becoming “Jaskier”. The transitional period where nothing was certain and everything was possible. 

The time before Posada.

Those days were long over though. Jaskier strapped on his sturdiest clothing and his daggers and stole through back allies in the night to find the hidden places he could practice in peace. The calluses on his hands from his lute were joined ones for his blades.

The off hours between lectures were filled with questions from students like how early should one reintroduced a previous melody line when working on subsequent works in a cycle or if provided the means for a multi-instrument arrangement on a song that does not originally call for one, how do you decide who takes the main and who plays the harmony. Technical things which could only distract him for so long. 

When he wasn’t tired from his late night practices, Jaskier would get lost in Oxenfurt’s many libraries. The ones belonging to the university were good for brushing up on his elder and reminding himself of recipes for poultices and potions. The secretive ones, owned by merchants or nobles that he’d had to trade to gain entry to, provided other knowledge like myths and stories which might prove useful.

Sometimes he’d watch the drunk undergrads brawl in the bars like he was their teacher here too. Jaskier, Professor Julian Pankratz, would look for moments where someone stumbled or their grasp weakened and cost them the fight. 

He did not drink anymore, not like he used to. A glass of wine while eating dinner with the dean of his department was one thing. Enough ale to throw punches in a tavern or empty his stomach on the street cobbles was another. 

“I think I might wish to leave again.” He whispered to himself as he flipped his dagger over and over again in his hand.  _ “The road sings sweetly to those who roam/ and those who listen shall always wander home.” _

The tentative words bounced off old wooden buildings and he thought that they’re not perfect but they could be something. It would just take a willingness to work on them. Jaskier was confident in that. Perhaps more than he should have been. They were just silly words he’d spun to himself in the darkness of Oxenfurt’s abandoned streets. 

If returning had taught him anything it was that he was perhaps more capable than he thought. He would never be the same man he was before again. 

Jaskier, Julien, Professor, Bard, Barker, Brother, Son, Friend. 

Maybe the person he would become in this new chapter, this post mountain time, would be more comfortable with himself. Maybe all he needed was practice.

\---

He was certainly overdoing it. Ysgallen’s saddle was designed for packing items not carrying humans, though she’d been trained for both, and even she was beginning to lose her patience with him. He just had to be sure he’d have enough provisions; Jaskier wasn’t a young man anymore, no matter the fact he still looked like it. Even if he could survive off mouldy bread and miscellaneous berries and leaves, he didn’t particularly want to. 

Ysgallen flicked her tail as he settled the final bag on her back. With all the grace in the world, the horse managed to slap him with her hair.

“Oh don’t give me that,” Jaskier laughed and stepped back around to her face. “We’re going to get on the way soon enough, impatient beast.”

Her eyes followed him as he gestured and talked, looking bored. 

“Well, my dear flower, I know we haven’t been together for too long yet but you must learn to trust me!” Jaskier reached out a hand, waiting for her to come back.

Ysgallen seemed to consider her options for a moment before indeed coming back to him, pressing her nose against his hand.

“Now, that's a sweet girl,” Jaskier cooed as he gave her pets. “And with that, we’re ready to go!”

He took her lead in one hand and pulled a coin from a pocket before tossing it to one of the stable hands as the pair left. Travelling between the small unnamed towns outside of Oxenfurt would be a good test run for his ability to travel seriously on his own. Jaskier grinned over his shoulder at his horse. His! 

“Ysa,” Jaskier started as they took their first steps on the hard path out of the city he’d lived in for months. “Ysa, I am truly excited for what we will accomplish. It’s been so long since I travelled. Imagine the songs I will write now! The adventures we will have! Oh, Ysa, just imagine it!”

His horse nickered in response and Jaskier laughed, giddy.

“Yes, yes! Exactly! Sweet flower, hold on, I think I have a perfect song for this! Now, Ysa, you must promise to follow after me. I am quite the skilled man but I do play best when I have both my hands for it.” Jaskier gave her a stern look, searching for any mischief in her big eyes before tucking her lead away and pulling out his lute.

_ “Don’t you worry there, My honey _

_ We might not have any money _

_ But we’ve got our love to pay the bills _

_ Maybe I think you’re cute and funny, _

_ Maybe I wanna do what bunnies do with you _

_ If you know what I mean _

_ Well, you might be a bit confused _

_ And I might be a bit bruised _

_ But baby how we spoon like no one else _

_ So I will help you read those books _

_ If you will soothe my worried looks _

_ And we will put the lonesome on the shelf” _

“Now how did that sound?” Jaskier turned back to his horse with a smile. It was a silly little love song he’d heard first a long time ago. 

For all that she could, Ysgallen looked deeply unimpressed. 

“Well, let me attempt another. Perhaps you want something a little lower key?” Jaskier smiled and warbled a note in a different key, trying to reach a different pitch. “Okay, lets see if this is more your style.”

_ “A year from now we'll all be gone _

_ All our friends will move away _

_ And they're goin' to better places _

_ But our friends will be gone away _

_ Nothin' is as it has been _

_ And I miss your face like hell _

_ And I guess it's just as well _

_ But I miss your face like hell” _

The soft chords were quieter in the morning sunshine than he would have wanted were he playing only for himself. If Jaskier was alone with these words, he’d probably be injecting more energy. Singing out … emotions. He was allowed to still be angry and sad and overall conflicted. 

_ “Been talkin' 'bout the way things change _

_ And my family lives in a different place _

_ If you don't know what to make of this _

_ Then we will not relate _

_ So if you don't know what to make of this _

_ Then we will not relate _

_ Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers 'til I reach you” _

Jaskier perhaps wasn’t paying the most attention to his surroundings and a shiver went through as the sun was suddenly blocked out. He continued singing as he squinted at the sky.

_ “Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers 'til I reach you _

_ Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers and roads _

_ Rivers 'til I reach you” _

“Well, how was that?” Jaskier pulled his attention away from the suddenly cloudy sky. 

Yet again, Ysgallen didn’t seem impressed. Perhaps it was the fact that she was carrying his earthly burdens while Jaskier got to sing and dance around her on the road. Perhaps it was just that she hadn’t been his horse for long yet and didn’t like being expected to follow without fail. Perhaps it was the fact that it was another love song if a mite sadder, and she was just a horse.

Jaskier laughed and waved her off. “Don’t you worry, my lovely Ysa. You will come to adore my songs!”

The horse nickered again, expressing what Jaskier certainly read as annoyance. Her lead came loose from where he tucked it, dragging just a little in the dirt.

Jaskier slowed a moment to return his lute to its case before picking up the lead again. “Fine then, though we both know you’re just being contrarian. And not having access to my hands doesn’t stop me from singing my  _ lovely _ tunes, dear Ysgallen, my summer flower. And besides, they’ll put oats in your stall all the same. Now let's get going before this turns into rain.”

\---

The night air was brisk but not uncomfortably so. Jaskier leaned against a downed log which made up one edge of his small camp and looked out over the dying embers from his dinner fire. Set up and take down were more drawn out events now that he was doing it all alone. And without Geralt trying to drive him and Roach to a ridiculous pace, him and Ysa didn’t quite travel as fast in the daytime either. 

It had been months by now. He wondered where Geralt was. Probably heading northward, considering the coming turn of the seasons. Even if Jaskier wanted to see him, two weeks on the roads of the continent when they were likely on opposite sides. He was still mad. Jaskier deserved better, had always deserved better, but certainly when considering the other person was his friend, someone he’d relied and trusted for two decades. 

But he could admit he wasn’t perfect either. Jaskier held his charms in one hand and continued to ruin his night vision while ruminating. There were many secrets between them. After two decades of knowing he could trust Geralt with knowledge of his heritage, he continued to hide it. Hell it might have actually made things easier if the witcher had known he wasn’t a delicate summer bloom. Maybe then he wouldn’t have needed to sneak along on so many hunts. 

Jaskier looked away from the fire, glancing around his camp. Ysa seemed content where he had her tied, especially since she was free from all of the items he had her carry during the day. His ability to pick a good campsite had not failed him yet. No drowners, ghouls, or even a wolf or bear. Once he woke up to a fox nosing around but Jaskier had been smart enough to keep everything put away, though he did toss the creature a strip of dried meat as they left. 

He was still a little nervous about bandits, to be honest. Without Geralt there to keep a proverbial eye out, Jaskier didn’t feel quite as safe at night. Though to be fair he probably shouldn’t have felt safe on the roads in the first place. He was just a naive little thing back then. Jaskier looked out over the small camp and frowned. 

It was just him and the horse. Ysa was a plenty good companion. He could see why Geralt preferred when it was just him and Roach. Keeping track of himself and a horse was enough. Keeping track of himself and a horse, and another living breathing person who was of little more help than a child would have made Jaskier want to go mad. And on top of that, even, was Jaskier’s tendency to sing and play all hours of the day unless his mouth was otherwise indisposed. Geralt must have been working overtime to make sure nothing snuck upon them. How’d he tune out the many many songs?

Jaskier hadn’t been playing once the sun set. He kept his notebooks nearby so he could write down ideas of lyrics and chords and the melodies he’d hum out when doing other things. The fear of a human who might consider him a tasty little snack hearing him in the dead of night was a little too much. Unthinkingly, one of Jaskier’s hands let go of his charms and drifted to where a large scar rested under his clothing (Not even a silk doublet, he’d switched to more orthodox travelling clothes for his days between towns). That would have been the perfect moment.

Jaskier had  _ wanted _ Geralt to ask because then it wouldn’t have been on him. He could have come clean and it wouldn’t have been his choice. And the removal of choice was so, so enticing. That said, how would he have reacted to perhaps being forced to share his secrets? How would Geralt have felt, knowing that he’d forced the bard to do something? For all that he was a man who other men feared, Geralt really did care about how others felt towards him. 

The thought made his blood run a little cold. Forcing anything, especially in a way which would take away either of their autonomy would go against everything Jaskier stood for. He was not bound to the idea of a man, he wasn’t in  _ love _ with the idea of man, it was the man himself with all of his opinions and arguments and ideas.

“Next time. Next time I’ll tell him, and we can part ways there.” Jaskier declared. “And telling him will be my own choice.”

Ysa whinnied from across the space and Jaskier paused, trying to decide if he wanted to interpret that as a question or support.

“Sweet girl, don’t even worry about it.” He decided for something in between the two. “It’s just one more of the adventures we’ll be going on together.”

\---

Jaskier ducked under the offending arm and threw his weight into the petty thief’s elbow. The resulting crack was surprisingly loud in the mostly quiet alleyway. Jaskier was already wincing when the thief screamed out in pain and shuffled back, letting once of his compatriots take the leading role in the fight.

“Come now, good men, you just saw what I did to your friend. Would you really like to try your hands against me?” Jaskier wiped his palm on the hip of his pants before palming the hilt of one of his daggers. “Though if you’ve hurt my Ysa, there won’t be anything left to save you.”

“He broke my fucking Elbow!” The first thief screamed and his compatriot who had stepped forward lunged and Jaskier had to jump to get out of the way. 

His back slammed against the stone walls and he stumbled forward, right into his new attacker’s blade. Logically, the knife being carried by the second glorified bandit was barely more than a kitchen knife, unable to make more than an ugly incision. That didn’t stop the rush of fear and adrenaline that tried to block out the stinging pain to his arm. For a split second, deep deep in his brain, Jaskier wondered if it would have hit bone or not.

Jaskier pulled out his dagger and tried to block out what pain was making it to his brain. “I think you’re going to find that was a very bad idea.”

The new fighter smirked and took a moment to admire his bloodied weapon in the faint torchlight that made it this far into the alley. “You are fucking mighty cocky for a smartmouthed brat.”

There’s a low noise behind him followed by an explosion of bright, light and a sucking noise as the air was pulled out of the alley. Jaskier used the distraction to dash forward and slip into the attacker's personal bubble. The man’s thin linen clothes were nothing to his sharp blade. 

Jaskier didn’t spend years watching Geralt care for his swords without learning how to care for his own weapons. 

The distraction did what he needed it to though, without it the partial loss of one arm would have spelt his end. Jaskier’s victim groaned and collapsed onto himself before falling to the ground. The thief with the broken elbow whimpered, watching that the events unfolding were certainly not going in his favour. 

Jaskier smirked, hiding a wince as he pressed his injured arm close to get a sense of the bleeding. “Yeah, it was a  _ really _ bad idea.”

The broken-elbow man ran off in the opposite direction.

A heavy sigh followed him and Jaskier felt the air shift as Yennefer came to stand at his side. “I swear for someone who has a perfectly lovely mother, you really do need swaddling more than any man I know.”

“Yenna,” he started before sucking in a deep breath, “would you care for a moment to warm your cold dead heart and go make sure they haven’t hurt my horse?” Jaskier didn’t bother to kick at the man bleeding out at his feet, but by every god did he want to. He was  _ not _ an easy target. And the rest of the world just needed to learn that. 

“You have a horse?” Yennefer sounded surprised, putting a hand on his shoulder and starting to lead him out of the alley.

Jaskier’s breathing quickened and the pain in his arm came into sharper focus. “Ysgallen. She’s a lovely girl, you’ll know her by the flowers in her hair. Now, if you wouldn’t mind. What if there’s more of these ungrateful cads? So if you’ll do that, I’m just going to-” Jaskier paused, trying to catch his breath “-to go sit down.”

He turned to see Yennefer glaring daggers at him. Likely his own fault for asking her to check on Ysa. She seemed to have some sort of vendetta against the creatures. It's not like she needed to worry at all. Ysa was  _ much _ more friendly than Roach, and Roach was a darling in the first place. Even if she was a little of a bitey menace.

Yenna cast an arm out to the side and opened a portal. “By all means, go sit down. I’m sure I’ve an armchair with just enough cushion for your pampered ass.”

Oh. It would appear that he was going to get a talking to. Jaskier sighed. “I’m going to drink all of your wine, Mage-mine. I hope you know what you’re asking for.”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m  _ asking _ for my dear sweet friend to cart his unsightly gangly body into my home so I can make sure he’s  _ safe. _ ”

Jaskier took in the dark sky above him and uneven cobbles beneath his feet. That would be the end of this particular adventure, he supposed. Jaskier kept one hand firmly pressed over the slice to his arm and stuck his tongue out at the witch before walking through.

The portal closed completely behind him leaving Jaskier to bleed over the lush rug he’d stepped onto. Where the hell was Yennefer staying now? He took a moment to catch his breath (the pain was making him wobble more than he wanted), before wandering. Jaskier whistled low.

He seemed to have been dumped into a large personal office or perhaps an advising/sitting room. One corner had more of that “office” appearance with a desk and many shelves, while the rest contained other seating and low tables as well as a large fireplace. The walls were stone but mostly covered with richly coloured tapestries and the rugs under his feet were in matching colours and heavily patterned, resting on a perfectly flat floor. Gilded ornaments rested on as many surfaces as seemed possible, and the furniture, ye gods the furniture. Jaskier didn’t get any closer than he was at the moment because of the literal blood dripping off his arm, but they looked so  _ soft _ . 

Seriously, who’s fucking house was this? The chair in the corner beside a heavy wooden desk looked more comfortable than the literal cloud he was sure he slept on as a child. 

Small steps echoed from far off before eventually, Yennefer entered the room through a heavy wooden door.

“I’ve arranged your horse in the stables. You’ll have to go sure she’s got all of your … belongings once we’re done here though.”

“I would have gone anyways, whether you wanted me to or not, dear Yenna.” Jaskier admitted. His attackers made comments about his lovely Ysgallen and the not glamorous but still valuable wares she carried. Jaskier had no way to be sure there wasn’t more than just the two who confronted him. 

Her face was a careful mask of neutrality as Yenna went straight behind the desk and pulled out a bottle of wine. She poured two glasses pulled from deep under there as well. “So. Care to tell me what you were doing near Vizima? That was certainly not where I left you.”

“Care to tell me where we are now?” Jaskier returned, shifting and wincing as he moved his arm too much. 

She sighed. “Vengerberg.”

“I didn’t think there was anything like this in Vengerberg.”

“There isn’t,” Yenna replied cooly and passed Jaskier one of the glasses. “Now talk, Jask.”

“I got bored?” Jaskier shrugged as much as he was able. He put the glass down quickly to continue holding his wound. “One heartbreak can’t kill a decades-long nomadic streak.”

“Your heart doesn’t seem particularly broken anymore. I would have taken you as one to mourn for years.” She sipped her drink. 

Jaskier gave her a grin. “I may not be able to heal my body like a witcher but my heart is another matter.”

She sighed. “Come here, let me fix that before you ruin more of my things.”

Jaskier grinned and offered his arm to the mage. A quiet fell between them though neither were uncomfortable with it. The skin and muscles of his arm knit themselves back together under Yennefer’s slim fingers. Once the angry red gash was little more than a puckered pink scar, Jaskier sighed. 

“I’m still mad at him if that’s what you were curious about.”

“I can read your mind. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Yes, but, it feels less like you’re invading my privacy with that if I say it aloud. So I’m not weeping but I am still mad. And I recognize that I kept secrets too. And so did you. And so did he. It wasn’t a good scenario.” Jaskier’s unharmed arm twitched and he clenched his fist for a moment before relaxing. “I’m not going to go searching him out, but when I see him again I’ll tell him what I hid and then we can move on.”

Yenna gave the bard a rueful smile. “You’d be willing to take him back?”

Jaskier laughed a little, though not in happiness. “I didn’t much have him in the first place.” He paused and tested his arm in Yennefer’s hands. “I know he kept secrets, Yenna, and didn’t like to listen to me or be honest with his thoughts.”

“Ha!” she, too, laughed bitterly. “I swear, sometimes you wouldn’t even think he had thoughts for how deeply he buried them.”

“I’m sure you’re the best source on that, mage-mine.” Jaskier agreed. “So if he would like to keep things as under wraps as they are now, then that will be that. I refuse to be treated that way again. But if he’s willing for honesty as well, then I’d try again.”

Yennefer dropped her hands and went back to her neglected glass of wine. “I know you’re thinking about the brute’s muscles. Gross.”

“Yennaaaaa,” Jaskier whined, glad she hadn’t lingered on his confession. “You know how heavenly the man looks naked!”

“Yes but I simply can’t forget the oaf those muscles belong to.” She threw back the glass and poured herself another before dropping into one of the plush chairs in the room.

Jaskier laughed, a true laugh. “Ye, gods, that oaf. Now, do you really want to hear what I was doing in Vizima or can I go check on my horse?”

She waved a hand. “Go, go.”

Jaskier grinned and started off towards the door Yennefer had entered through. He was entirely sure he’d get lost trying to find the stables but he’d make his way eventually. 

“Two rights, straight, and then left down the servant’s stairs!” Yenna called after him. “And don’t reopen that damn wound!”

He chuckled. “Aye, aye, madame! No more bleeding from me.”

Now he just needed to remember. Two rights, straight, left down the stairs. Ysa, Jaskier was on his way.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! first off the songs! I originally wanted more, but the plan didn't work out like that. At least I got these three lol. Songs in order are :  
> \- Get Low by Timber Timbre  
> \- You and I by Ingrid Michaelson  
> \- Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart  
> Next! it's been a hot minute! sorry about that, writer's block hit hard and I'm also taking a summer course atm to try and shave off whatever credit requirements I can while being stuck at home. I hope the quality hasn't taken too much of a hit from it. I'll come back and give this a third pass of edits in a couple days but I can't wait to post it any longer skjhkjfh. anyways, last item. while I like reading angsty stuff from time to time, I prefer to write more hopeful things. I hope Jaskier's development doesn't seem either out of character or like it's not taking things seriously. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Hmu on Tumblr if you ever want to chat! Kiss!  
> [Tumblr](https://floralb0t.tumblr.com/?)


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